Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A deep breath comes from Rhyolite, their four eyes adjusting to the now dark sky, to their side Slate is sitting quietly roasting a marshmallow over the fire. Looking up to the sky again they see the comforting sight of Giants Deep stormy atmosphere, with flickering lights appearing every so often. One would assume that the planet would be empty— but with all the Nomai sites that scatter the ocean, something new to discover must be there, as they were told that would be the case that is. 

It looks peaceful from here. Almost quiet. But they know better.

“Finally awake are ya now hatchling. Eager for your first launch?” Slate says ..

Rhyolite stands to shake off the dirt gathered on their pants, “sure am! I can’t wait to get out there.”
Slate’s chuckle fills the air, “I’m sure you are, it’s all fuelled up for your first voyage across the stars. Where’d you plan to go first?”

Rhyolite looks up to the sky, the comforting sight of the stars are soon to be their home-away from home. They know deep down exactly where they want to see first, or who that is. But that’s a thought they’d rather keep close, unspoken.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see the Hourglass Twins in person,” they murmur, the excitement bubbling up despite themself. “Or the Nomai ruins on Brittle Hollow… even the Sun Sta—”

“Yeah yeah sounds great,” Slate interrupts, a small grin tugging at the corner of their lips. “Wherever you go just don’t go and forget about all us now hatchling.” Slate leaves a hand on their shoulder and grips it tightly and Rhyolite just nods curtly. “Now go on and grab those launch codes from Hornfels and get outta here.” 

They wave off their hand and before Slate can even sit back down Rhyolite has run off on the path towards the Observatory barely containing their excitement.

As excited as they are now, Rhyolite is internally beating themselves for not saying their goodbyes sooner, as they now have to trek within the village before their launch. 

As they inwardly debate whether or not to sneak past everyone to avoid their launch getting put off any longer they run head first into Rutile, the last Hearthian they would have wanted to see. That may sound harsh but due to Rutile’s distaste for the Outer Wilds Ventures Rhyolite also developed a bit of a grudge against them, even though they had almost zero interactions with them. So in all honesty their ‘grudge’ is pretty unjustified, but as a stubborn hatchling they don’t let go of things easily.

“Sorry Rutile, my heads’ not thinking straight right now.” They tried to joke off knowing full well it was not the best approach to get past this. 

”Gee then, I think I better have you grounded for medical reasons, and so soon before your first launch too, such a shame.” The look of panic that washed over Rhyolite’s face was not subtle and they quickly tried to recollect their thoughts, but it did not easily go unnoticed.

”NO..” They start, before recomposing themselves to try again, “I’m sorry I mean I’m fine- More than fine! Great, better, fantastic even!” 

Rutile’s laugh was daunting, being a mayor and all one would assume they would be quite personable, but they were the opposite, so yeah, they weren’t sure what the laugh meant. Their face said even less, hopefully it was just a hatchling thing but they had never been good at talking, and the things that come with talking, such as reading others faces, so in this situation what was to come next was a complete mystery. But as the mayor placed their hand on Rhyolite’s shoulder firmly yet comforting and they let out a sigh of relief— fears quelling.

”I have had near to no faith in the Outer Wilds Ventures hatchling, but I have faith in you, Gossan has told me you are more than ready.” Rutile’s deep scaled face has clearly not seen many smiles in its lifetime, but this was one Rhyolite would never forget. “I hope you find what you’re looking for out there hatchling.”

And with that any last bit of anxiety that was stirring inside disappeared, this was the reassurance that they didn’t know they needed. They hadn’t known they were waiting for permission, for trust. But now that it had come, it settled around them like warmth. They returned the smile, small sure, but a smile nonetheless and turned toward the path ahead and began their slow walk to the Observatory, now feeling more encouraged than ever before. 

On their ascent up the hill Rhyolite took a glance back down at the village, looking around at the place that raised them, each branch and bark as familiar to them as the freckles on the back of their hand. Although this step is one that is etched in doubt by many, they still feel that their home has always been with the stars. A deep calling has always reached out to them, and they intend to make it theirs. They pull their gaze away from the village, the one that raised them, as they continue to hike onwards.

Making their way into the Observatory they see Hal and are greeted warmly. “Hey Rhy feeling ready?” Their infectious smile already rubbing off on them.  

“Definitely! And don’t worry I’ll be sure to keep you updated on anything cool I find.”

”Well I would surely hope so, I mean that translator is half of my brain child as well you know.”  

Hal can hardly keep their smile down, although growing up as hatchlings together, Hal never had the urge to see space as much as Rhyolite did, but their excitement is just as real, only rooted in different dreams. Together the two worked on the translator for years, pouring day and months into perfecting it. Seeing it work was more than enough. Hal never cared much for rockets or open skies—never needed to. Their joy hums in wires and code, in the translator resting steady in Rhyolite’s hands. But watching their best friend take it beyond their little workshop? That’s everything.

“Oh don’t worry everyone knows that with how much you brag about it buddy.” Hal pulls them into an embrace and being slightly taller they rest their chin on Rhyolites head.

“Have fun,” By no one's surprise Hal’s eyes gather a few tears but before Rhyolite notices they nudge them towards the direction of Hornfels. “Hurry up and get on that ship before everything is already discovered.” They shakingly urge, their voice wavering but stern.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen-“ they starts, but before they get to finish Hal has already walked off into the other direction. Rhyolite only rolls their eyes and goes in the direction to find Hornfels to see them standing by the new exhibit in the museum. 

“There they are the newest pilot off on their first solo voyage! Come to say some sweet goodbye to me, eh?” Hornfels says while readjusting some plaque. 

”I-“ 

Hornfels cuts in before Rhyolite can even get a peep out, “oh sorry lemme’ guess after those launch codes I’m sure, well here they are, now don’t go out giving these out to Mica by accident, don’t need anymore hatchlings going up to that launch pad..” Judging from the look on their face you can tell it’s definitely Feldspar that may or may not be the reason for the lift needing the launch codes in the first place. 

“Thanks Hornfels, I- uh-, I’ll be sure to keep them in a safe place.”

“I always knew you were a bright one, now where are you heading to first?” 

“I’m just gonna wing it I think,” they look to Hornfels hoping for an approving look and answer.

“Ahh, just like the great Feldspar following in their footsteps are we now? Just maybe stay clear of that Dark Bramble for now, I’m certain you don’t want to see what’s inside that place.” Is all they say. The stories of the Dark Bramble have circulated around the campfire for years now, tales of giant beasts and it being bigger on the inside somehow, but alas no Hearthian knows for sure. 

As hatchlings those were always the stories that left nightmares for weeks, so maybe they would take the advice, but not because they were scared, no, they would not admit that, but just because they wanted to test out the translator tool first, of course. 

”I’ll take your word for it,” they mutter, tapping their fingers against their thigh. It’s been nearly fifteen minutes since they started hunting down those launch codes, and the restless glances toward the skies are getting harder to hide. The ship is waiting— their ship—and standing still for much longer might just drive them up the walls. As they start to slowly step away from the conversation, Hornfels speaks up once more.

”Alright hatchling go start exploring, try to bring something back for the museum while you’re at it!” 

And with that Rhyolite is walking out the door, but before they can leave a strange presence is felt over their shoulder. A soft blanket of coolness that causes shivers to make its way down their body and causes them to stumble. They quickly glance back and find the Nomai statue staring straight at them. Strange. They don’t want to waste anymore time so they go to make their way out the door but before they can, Rhyolites legs become rooted in the floor beneath them and time seems to freeze. 

The breeze through the trees stops and the waterfall can no longer be heard, time stands still, their own breathing the only thing that could be heard from miles away. Seven eyes are locked in a trance, an unbreaking silence fills the air and tips of their pale blue ears seem to numb with the sensation following down the rest of their body. Nothing moves— and yet everything does. 

The world holds still, but something beneath the surface hums, immense and unknowable. Then, in a blink, the last few minutes rush past their eyes in a blur of light and sensation—then nothing. Just black.

A heartbeat later, everything snaps back. The room, the sunlight, the statue—unchanged, untouched. Their hands fly to their ears as they feel the warmth return, their breathing stuttering before slowly, shakily evening out.

Nothing about that was normal, but no one else seemed to notice, so they guessed it couldn’t have been anything... or at least, that’s what they told themselves.

But just as they turned to leave, something pulled at them. A glance over the shoulder.

The statue’s eyes were open. Wide. Staring.

Had they always been like that?

Slightly stumbling down the path as if they just had their first sip of sap wine again they see Gossan sitting by the river. 

”Ah hatchling how are you doing?” Gossan takes a double glance, “oh hatchling are you well? You look a bit pale.” 

Gossan places a hand on Rhyolites' forehead, with them leaning into the touch, “yes, I’m doing just fine,” Rhyolite whispers, not even convincing themselves. 

They press further, clearly sensing their hesitation. ”Just pre-flight nerves? Nothing to be worried about you’ll do great.” 

Rhyolite takes a glance around, eyes drifting across the familiar cliffs and trees, grounding themself, unsure if they should tell Gossan about the strange experience they just had.

No—Gossan would worry, ask questions, maybe even delay the launch. And truthfully, Rhyolite doesn’t want to talk about it. They just want to get off this rock already. After all this time saying their goodbyes it seems like an eternity now since they woke up. 

“Thanks Gossan, I’m fine really.” Even as they said that again they still weren’t fully persuaded by their own words. Despite this, Gossan only nods and pats their shoulder. 

“I know you will be hatchling, good luck, be safe, and please come back.” Gossan’s words hit deep yet they feel like they were directed at someone else, someone not here. 

By the time they get to the launch pad the fire is long gone and Slate is nowhere to be seen, perhaps a good thing, no one to stop them now at least. Finally putting in the launch codes and feeling the chill hit their neck Rhyolite truly realises where they’re headed. Space. The stars. Home . Oh how they longed for this moment and it’s finally happening. The nights spent staring up at Timber Hearth’s sky like it held the answer to everything. And now, it's real. Walking towards their ship they don’t even check if everything is in order, as they know its insides and outs better than their own bedroom. Watching and helping Slate build it in front of their eyes helped too. 

Sitting comfortably in the pilot chair they don’t give another second to think as everything comes to Rhyolite instantly, the controls feel natural—like muscle memory. Before they realise it they’re headed up and out the atmosphere, seeing Timber Hearth slowly get smaller and smaller, its forests and rivers fading into a swirl of blues and greens. The stars have never seemed to close, like one could just reach out and grab them.

A wave of comfort washes over Rhyolite as they take in what they’re seeing, Giants Deep the dangerous beauty now only at arms reach, oh how they wish Feldspar could see them now.

But before they can finish their train of thought they see the sun, red, big, angry , was it always that red? Must just look different from space, lack of oxygen or other. But something doesn’t feel right, something is off. 

“Don’t be such a hatchling Rhyolite, it’s just the sun.” But once again they are cut off from finishing their own thought when the sun seems to shrink. Their hands now gripping the thrusters and instinctively pulling away. No, no not like this, not now.

Their heart beats faster and their ears fall watching what unfolds in front of them, unable to breathe and unable to stop this. 

The sky falls dark right before a deafening sound crosses the solar system and a blinding blue light along with it. Paralysed by fear, they do nothing. Nothing can be done. After everything that has happened this is how it ends just when they just began? They’re not ready, they have so much to do, so much to see. Just too unlucky to be born at the death of the universe it seems. The blue light is getting closer and closer. Nothing can be done. It is what it is. It’s not fair. How could this happen? The blue light now only moments away. Nothing more to do now. Just accept this reality. Nothing can be done.

Everything fades to black.

Chapter Text

As a hatchling, Rhyolite always had a fascination with the outer wilds, always wanting to be another one of the great explorers of the solar system. As time wore on that dream became a reality as they began their first-year cadet training with the Outer Wilds Ventures. One of the main reasons for their passion was one certain astronaut, the greatest that ever was, Feldspar. Being the first Hearthian in space gave them the credibility to become the legend that they are. 

But it wasn’t just that, it was their stories— the dangerous and impossible ones, the ones that made Rhyolite believe that they could, maybe, one day follow in their footsteps. To them, Feldspar wasn’t just an explorer, but they were living proof that a hatchling could one day leave their mark on the stars.

On one warm afternoon in the early Timber Hearth Summer Rhyolite was sitting by their usual spot by the launch tower, legs swinging over the log, crickets scattered within the bushes providing a quiet hum. They often found comfort in this quieter part of the village, on the rare occurrence that they needed it that is, as they were bothered by no one but the occasional bug that found purchase on their knee. 

Today was supposed to be the return of Feldspar, but that was also what they were told a week prior. Alas, they waited here almost every afternoon anyways— the afternoons they could get away unnoticed that is. These past few years the hatchling had grown quite fond of the fearless pilot, admiring their abilities as a pilot and their captivating stories from their time among the stars.

More often than not Feldspar would bring back Nomai relics to show to the hatchlings, they were mainly for Rhyolite, as they were all enamoured with any aspect of space. The last time Feldspar had brought something back it had been a scroll of sorts, suspected to be containing traces of the yet-to-be fully understood Nomai language. The idea that out in the solar system, across all the planets there were thousands upon thousands of unread words was a bewildering concept to Rhyolite. Conversations gone unread for years, names and places long forgotten, and they wanted to be the one to uncover it all.

A distant rumble snapped Rhyolite from their train of thought as the sound of the ship coming into orbit filled the air, instantly Rhyolite jumped to their feet and watched as the ship landed with ease and precision, movements that reflected years of experience. Feldspar had finally decided to grace Timber Hearth with their missed presence. Appearing not long after breaking the atmosphere, Gossan had made their way besides the hatchling, clearly also keen on seeing the arrival. 

“Now just how long have you been waiting here hatchling, I know you’ve got some chores to catch up on, can’t always be hiding from Gneiss out here.” Gossan says teasingly to Rhyolite, raising their hand to block out the sun that was peaking just above the neighbouring trees. 

Rhyolite only shrugs their shoulders in response, all four eyes too focused on the now descending lift holding the most important Hearthian to them in this moment. They had always been the coolest member of the Ventures, and basically the coolest Hearthian on Timber Hearth as well.

”Ah guess I must be losing my popularity, only got two Hearthians waiting for me,” Feldspar makes their way over to greet Gossan and Rhyolite, their reflective helmet in their arms clearly seen some better days. 

Rhyolite looks up to them, being a foot or two shorter they have to crane their neck, and having studied almost every aspect of Feldspar they notice the small gash on the corner of their bottom right eye. Had it been from a bumpy landing? Most likely. But nonetheless Rhyolite being the hatchling they are believed it must have come from some narrowing escape on one of the foreign planets.

”Woah how’d you get that!” They point at the cut, ears perked up and not even trying to hide their excitement, just keen to know the story behind it. 

“Oh, I-, uh-,” their hesitation to come up with an explanation doesn’t go unnoticed by Gossan, and by judging the look of their landing gear can guess exactly what had happened.
“It was from the caves on the Ember Twin, the sand was rising so fast so I had to jump to a cliff just before the sand got to me!” It wasn’t that Feldspar hadn’t experienced that exact scenario before but the result of this new scar was a bit more embarrassing, and not something they wanted spread across the village. 

“Whaaattt! That’s so cool! I can’t wait to be like you when I become an astronaut!” At this point Rhyolite had started rambling on some other tangent about the Nomai language, while Gossan quietly watched the exchange unfold, arms crossed, amusement and something softer lingering behind their eyes.

”Still making up stories for your scrapes huh?” Feldspar rolls their eyes and brushes off their comment, but there’s a subtle warmth in their voice, both share a quick glance and Feldspar bumps their hip into Gossan’s side.

“Still passing on your bad habits to the cadets?” They respond back, despite what they said being completely untrue— as Gossan is by far the safest pilot in the Ventures, never pulling off the stunts that Feldspar does— Gossan chuckles anyways.

They go to say something again before Rhyolite speaks up once more, finished with their very one-sided conversation, “did you bring back any artefacts?” They look as excited as they would when it's the first snow of winter, but alas Feldspar only shakes their head. 

“You’re still obsessed with the Nomai huh? Well I heard that Hornfels dug up something new the other week, I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet.”

Rhyolite immediately latches on to that. “Really! What did they find?”

Gossan raises an eyebrow and half-jokes, “maybe if you spent a little less time in the zero-g cave, you’d know.”

In response, their ears flushed a deep shade of purple, the kind of colour that gave away much more than they had meant to. “I don’t spend that much time there,” they mumble under their breath, suddenly very fascinated with the rocks under their feet.

“Go on, hatchling, you might’ve just missed them. Just don’t knock anything over in there.”

With a sharp flick of their ears and a grin too big for their small face, Rhyolite runs down the make-shift path towards the Observatory, footsteps light and ears twitching with excitement. Their enthusiasm still lingering in the air even after they’ve disappeared.

As the dust settles Gossan and Feldspar are left standing there, enjoying the comfort of the silence between them. Gossan hesitates before gently placing a hand along Feldspar’s back, their voice hardly above a whisper, “you were gone a while this time.” 

Gossan doesn’t need to say anything else for the meaning to turn Feldspar’s guts into mush. Almost three weeks this time, and it would only get longer. Ever since their first flight into space they have grown to become anxious about being on Timber Hearth soil for too long. The wilds called to them, and it became an insatiable itch that could never stay down for too long.

They had to explore every corner of each celestial body that scattered the skies, they needed too. Being in one place for too long was claustrophobic, the ground beneath them became too stiff, the air too thin, and the faces of those in the village blurred until they were back out amongst the stars. They shifted on their feet, suddenly aware of the way their boots sank slightly into the soft soil. It was a feeling that used to comfort them. Now, it only made them restless.

Feldspar doesn’t meet Gossan’s eyes. “Yeah,” they say after a while, their voice low and brittle after not speaking to anyone for so long. “I didn’t mean to be.”

But they both know that’s not entirely true.

The silence hangs between the two, heavy with everything unsaid. The breeze shifts through the trees, carrying with it the smell of smoke and sap. 

Gossan then exhales softly, “ya know,” they murmur, eyes still on the sky, “they really remind me of someone at times.”

Feldspar grins slightly, truly looking at Gossan for the first time since landing, “I don’t think that’s something you overly want in a hatchling.”

Gossan sighs, “perhaps not.” They tenderly brush against the cut on their face, Feldspar hisses in return. “Alright hotshot, let’s get that cleaned up.”

Rhyolite practically skidded to a stop at the Observatory doors, still catching their breath. They push open both doors and are expected to be greeted by the usual sound of Hornfels clanging rock samples together or the muttering over star charts.

“Hornfels!” Their call bounces off the walls and back to their ears, even without the great hearing of their species one could easily see the place is empty of life. The usual desk that Hornfels can be found perched at is empty, walking over to the desk they glance over at a note left behind. 

Out surveying at the Southern Crater, back by nightfall -H

With a determined huff Rhyolite turned from the note and wandered further into the Observatory, scanning the room for any trace of the new artefact Feldspar had mentioned. They peeked beneath tarp-covered tables and shuffled through labeled crates, finding months of built up dust layers but no artefact. 

Drawn by a mix of boredom and determination to find at least something new, Rhyolite made their way to the back storage room— off-limits to hatchlings, technically, but considering that no one was around, who was to stop them? The dim glow of the backup lights cast long shadows across the weathered shelves on the brink of collapsing. Things around here need an upgrade but no chance that’ll happen anytime soon. 

On one particular shelf sat a handful of dusty rocks and some rusted ship parts, their edges dulled with time. Rhyolite paused, squinted, then let out a quiet sigh through their nose, they reached out and nudged a jagged metal piece, only for it to clatter against the wood. Nothing sparked curiosity, or anything for that matter. After finding the storage room a total disappointment they glanced over at the old computer terminal in the corner, maybe it held something the shelves clearly didn’t.

Near the back wall the computer sat unbothered, hardly used by any members of the Ventures except for Hornfels on the rare occasion. Nothing truly stood out to them about it, but it had been connected to a yet to be translated Nomai panel. So curiously they stepped closer and tapped the power button.

Instantly the panel spurred to life, symbols flickering across the rock in a frantic blur. Words began to form, but not fully, just letters overlapping with one another. Completely entranced by what they were looking at, they failed to notice the computer smoking, but they smelt it before they saw it. 

“Shit.. this was a mistake.” They mumbled, the smoke grew and the panic set in. Eyes flicking between fanning the smoke and the glitching letters appearing, they were able

to make out only three words.

Eye, Quantum, Universe.

The glowing pulse only intensified, their heart beating at the same speed. They won’t hear the end of this if they had broken it, or well they will when they’re dead.

Before they could reach for the shutdown switch the panel stuttered one last word before it went silent and the lights ceased.

Core

Rhyolite stood still for a moment, their pulse matching their staggered breathing. It had surely just been a glitch right? Just a glitch. Easing into the nearby chair they tried to regain their breath, in and out, slow and steady. When the room finally settled around them their eyes drifted to the cluttered desk in front of them, where a worn notebook lay half-hidden beneath a stack of star charts. They could tell it belonged to Hornfels, judging by the frayed edges, cracking leather, and torn pages, it was clearly used quite a bit.

With hesitant fingers Rhyolite reached for the notebook, brushing away dust and grime gathered on the front cover. This was not the smartest idea, to read through their notebook, but what if it held interesting secrets that they hadn’t yet shared? Too impatient to wait for their mind to catch-up, their hands gripped the pages, scanning the scratchy handwriting until an entry caught their eyes.

The words were sharp, almost cold against the worn paper.

Rhyolite’s curiosity is becoming reckless. They remind me of Feldspar far too much, and in more ways than one.

A heavy silence settled into the air, their heart tightening with every word they read. Reckless? The word echoed in their head, bouncing off the walls and hitting harder each time. Is that what people thought of them? Just a reckless hatchling, a risk waiting to happen? Their fingers trembled as they traced the words again, desperate for the meaning to change, but it wouldn’t, no matter how hard they tried. But the truth weighed heavier with each glance.

Tears prickled at the corners of each of their four eyes. The room felt small, the walls closing in. Rhyolite swallowed hard, not even bothering to fight back the tears that were now flowing down their cheeks. Slamming the notebook shut they threw it across the floor, as if the simple action would suffice in holding back the pain. But it didn’t.

Not wanting to stay trapped in the suffocating silence, Rhyolite hurried out of the Observatory, their footsteps echoing against the cold floor. The crisp air outside hit their face, stinging slightly, but it did little to dull the ache swelling inside. Although the sun had only just set below the horizon the village was completely quiet, the silence deafening, almost like everyone knew what had just happened.

Without a destination in mind, they found themselves reminded of one of the words they saw, Quantum, and without much debate their body seemed to move on its own headed towards the Quantum Grove.

Chapter Text

The Quantum Grove was quiet, in a way that no other place on Timber Hearthian was, not even the native critters could find solace in this place. Rhyolite sat curled near the water’s edge, knees pulled close, watching the reflection of the flickering stars in the water. There’s a feeling of loneliness that drapes over them, as if the grove is observing them with indifference. 

They weren’t sure how long they had been sitting there for, long enough for the Attlerock to have passed by about twice now though, but they weren’t exactly counting. The ache in their chest had now settled into something dull and heavy, like rocks weighing them down.

Despite themselves they think back to the words they read and bitter tears fall again. They cry quietly even though the only company they have are the trees and rocks, and that’s a bold assumption as they can’t even stay in one place for long.

Am I too much? They repeatedly ask to themself. The question loops in their mind, heavier each time it returns. Too reckless, too curious.

They press their face into their hands, a strained sob escapes their throat. What am I doing wrong? The scales beneath their eyes burn, and the chill air surrounding them isn’t helping. Feldspar was their hero, still was, the first Hearthian to touch the stars, how could being like them be a bad thing. There’s no doubt that Feldspar has flaws, everyone does, but how could a bright-eyed hatchling like Rhyolite see them? 

In truth they had heard what the adults said about them, they’re gonna get themself killed one day and how can they be so stupid . But they didn’t believe it, they couldn’t. That wasn’t the Feldspar they knew, the one who travelled the solar system, the first Hearthian on the Attlerock, and the one who gave them their passion for the stars. No, it couldn’t be, they wouldn’t accept that.

A soft crunch of grass and sticks behind them breaks the stillness. 

Rhyolite stiffens, wiping the evidence of the past few minutes from their face. They don’t turn, maybe if they pretend hard enough, whoever it is will go away. But fate is hardly ever on their side.

Instead, the Hearthian who decided now was a good time to be in this very same grove lowers themself onto the grass a short distance beside them. Gabbro’s presence is unmistakable, it’s like a blanket of calmness washing over you, they’re like the air, they belong wherever they are and fill the space however they please.

Moments go by without any words spoken, Rhyolite’s tears may have stopped but the track marks lay dried on their cheeks…

”You weren’t at the campfire, so I figured you’d gotten stuck in the zero-g cave, I didn’t expect to find you here.” Gabbro’s voice is soft, low, like they’re trying not to scare away a skittish ghost. There’s no question in their tone, just an observation. It’s something that Rhyolite has picked up on, they almost never ask any questions, just go with the way things are. Just a passive bystander to their own life, not attempting to change the flow that has been created by others. Gabbro has always somewhat confused Rhyolite, sure they’ve seen them engage with their training and other things around the village, like fishing. But a majority of the time, they just hang around on the outskirts, or, in most cases, never around at all. It’s odd behaviour coming from someone raised in a village where close to every conversation was in earshot. Rhyolite, on the other hand, can’t go more than three hours without talking to someone—anyone. It doesn’t even matter what the conversation’s about; just hearing another voice is enough. They enjoy being alone, sure, but only in small doses—hardly surprising, considering they grew up sharing a room with Hal their whole life. Silence was never something they had much of, and honestly, they prefer it that way.

They don’t answer right away, not that Gabbro was looking for one, but they feel as though they should explain themself. Sure Gabbro is fine to sit and bask in the silence but noticing that Rhyolite had been picking off all the scales around their nails they speak up again. “Feldspar was going on about a city they found on Brittle Hollow, you would’ve loved it.” Gabbro had admired Feldspar, they always had the right answer for everything, knew what to say. They knew why Feldspar had made such a big impression on Rhyolite, even though Gabbro was only about three years older than Rhyolite, they could see why they meant so much to them. After people-watching for so long, you tend to pick up on things quite easily.

“All the stuff you like y’know, they said there could have been ten, maybe fifteen scrolls lying around, shame they weren’t able to bring them all back.” Rhyolite hums in response, they’ve moved on from their fingers and started unconsciously pulling out the grass beside them. They keep their eyes fixed on the shifting grove ahead, where the trees and rocks blink in and out, similar to the thoughts they can’t seem to grasp ahold of.

More silence follows. Then a breath— one of those ones weighted down, meant to shake something off without saying it aloud. But they need some sort of outlet, and Gabbro is one of the best listeners around, so why not try. But before they can spit out any words, Gabbro seems to notice their subtle change in mood. They turn their head just enough to catch Rhyolite in the corner of their vision. “You don’t have to say what’s wrong,” they pause before continuing, “I’m not Gossan, I’m not here to pull it out of you.”

Now facing directly at Rhyolite, they watch their micro expressions across their face. The way their oversized ears droop down from their small face makes it look as though they’ve got their own personal gravity surrounding them, twice as strong as Timber Hearth’s—pulling them gently earthward. No doubt their mind is full of thoughts dragging them down as well. The heaviness weighs them down to solid ground when all they want is to fly freely.

Rhyolite knows once they start, they won’t be able to stop, the words will cascade straight from their thoughts to their mouth, then sooner or later, the words will cease having any filter at all. But they know the words said in the grove won’t leave— can’t leave. Like some magnetic force keeping them safe here. Gabbro gazes back up to the now deep endless sky, any trace of the sun now long gone until morning. 

Rhyolite licks their dry lips, preparation for the waterfall of words that are about to spill out. “I just- I don’t think-” they had so many thoughts filling their head a minute ago, now coincidentally, they had all vanished. 

“I don’t think I’m cut out for the Ventures.”

They don’t elaborate. They don’t need to.

Gabbro doesn’t react at first, they don’t question them, they don’t brush them off, and they don’t try any awkward attempt to cheer them up. They just nod, slow and understanding, as if Rhyolite had commented on the weather. The kind of quiet understanding that needs no explanation.

After a moment, they reach for a pebble and start idly rolling it on their palm. “Yeah,” they reply eventually, “I don’t blame you for thinking that.” Rhyolite looks almost shocked at their answer. Was that supposed to make them feel better? Their mind had just stopped with the spiralling, now it stuttered at the comment, unsure what to think, their mind now unravelling at the seams. Is Gabbro telling them to quit? Give up now? Give up the dream they’ve had since they could form coherent thoughts? Surely not, but what Gabbro thinks is a mystery, they seem to enjoy doing nothing more than even participating in their own training. So why haven’t they? 

Gabbro is yet to fill the silence with the lingering answer on Rhyolite’s mind, they just continue gently turning the pebble in their hand. “I think about that all the time,” they respond finally. “Not just once or twice, but a lot. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the most ‘out-going’ Hearthian to grace the Ventures.” 

“You’d have to blind not to notice that,” the words slip out accidentally, although true, they didn’t mean to say it aloud, especially with Gabbro sitting right beside them. “Oh stars, sorry I didn’t mean- that came out wrong,” they attempt to cover themselves but Gabbro just nods and smiles. 

“You’re not wrong,” they slowly fall onto their back, deciding the ground is far more comfortable to continue the conversation on. “I know what others think of me, ‘there goes Gabbro slacking off again,’ or ‘taking another nap again Gabbro?’” They chuckle, but their laugh doesn’t hide the sting beneath the words, it sounds exactly like a bruise being pressed. 

“They think I’m just coasting life, that I don’t care.” They lift the pebble, holding it above their face and squinting, as if it might hold a better answer to the question they’ve always had. “But I do.”

”I thought you liked being laid-back,” Rhyolite’s quiet voice perks up.

“I do,” this time Gabbro actually laughed, quiet at first, then fuller, warmer, natural. Their scales shifted with the motion of their face, catching the low light of the grove as they smiled, the small ridges lifting in a way that Rhyolite had never had the pleasure to see before. It was the most heavenly sound they’d ever heard, like a timbre only meant for their ears. And suddenly, Rhyolite knew one thing for certain amongst this world of mysteries— that they wanted to make Gabbro laugh like that again. Over and over if they were given the chance.

Wait, what.

Why had they thought that? 

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t get tired of everyone thinking that’s all that I am, y’know?” They glance beside them, Rhyolite now having also situated themselves on their back too. The grass was slightly damp, indicative of the rain a few days prior, Gabbro was much more suited for this weather, seen clearly from the beanie they always wore. Rhyolite on the other hand preferred the least amount of clothing possible, running hotter than others will do that. But their choice of clothing was now getting them slightly soggy, and with the chill breeze also slightly cold. Not too cold to be shivering, but being cold-blooded, it wouldn’t take long. 

“You feel the same way, don’t you.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, not that they would’ve had to answer because Gabbro, somehow, already knew the answer. Like clockwork, their hands have now began picking at the loose threads of their shirt. How can someone they hardly knew, know so much about them? The fact that Gabbro saw through them so easily— it was comforting, but also terrifying. Sure Hal knew everything about them, they were clutch mates after all, Hal was a few weeks older sure but they were inseparable, always together. When they weren’t together they were always questioned about where the other was. Always grounded by one another, each other's Moon in orbit. And if Hal was the Moon, Gossan was the Sun.

Gossan was everything. They raised them, taught them everything they knew, passed on their passions and loves onto Rhyolite, like carefully carved heirlooms. They were told that others tried to take care of them but they fussed and cried until it was Gossan. Their steady and comforting presence in their life had always been the gravity that held everything together. So the disappointment that Gossan would feel if they suddenly quit? The guilt would be immeasurable, unbearable, it hollowed them out. It would weigh on them like when they were a tiny hatchling, crying out for the only voice that made them feel safe. And maybe that’s why it hurts so much to doubt themself. Because it felt like doubting everything that Gossan ever gave them. 

But if Gossan was the Sun, then Feldspar was the Stars— distance, burning, out of reach to a small hatchling such as themself. They were everything Rhyolite ever wanted to be. Fearless and free. The embodiment of possibility. And yet, the harder they spent trying to follow in their same footsteps, the more the steps felt like craters instead of a path. Too deep to fill, and too wide to cross. But yet they admired them anyways. Feldspar had made what they did look easy, sure they had years of practice, but it was effortless nonetheless. And they wanted that for themselves.

The Moon, the Sun, and the Stars. So what was Gabbro? Rhyolite stole a glance at Gabbro’s profile, calm and unreadable, like always, but real nonetheless. And that presence made something twist inside, but not ache, they couldn’t place the feeling. They didn’t know Gabbro well, not at all really. But right now, it felt like Gabbro was the only other person in the entire universe. And that made them want to cry, so cry they did. 

It wasn’t a sad cry, they didn’t know what it was, but it felt better knowing that Gabbro was besides them. It felt like Gabbro was the only person who could sit with this version of them and not ask anything of them.

And it was all they needed.

Rhyolite let out a shaky breath, “why are you still here?” They wanted a real answer, but they should know better by now.

”Because you’re still here.”

Rhyolite swallowed hard, they didn’t exactly know why Gabbro stayed with them still. Did they feel sorry for them? Maybe, who knows. Their mind seemed to run at a hundred miles per hour, while Gabbro must be closer to ten, based on how little they talk that is. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it was a foreign concept to Rhyolite. They were just lost about what anything meant in all honesty. Of course they were smart, smart about mathematics and science, great with mechanics, but terrible at words. Words surrounding feelings that is. They seemed to have more things figured out at ten than now. At fourteen, the future felt both impossibly vast and yet crushingly close at the same time. Like they were standing on the edge of everything they had ever wanted, but unsure if they had the strength to leap.

They watched Gabbro’s chest rise and fall, arms folded behind their head like they didn’t have a single worry in the world. They knew different now though, they knew that they were slightly rusted on the inside, yet they still looked at peace. How could someone seem so at peace while Rhyolite felt like they were coming undone at the seams.

A soft sigh was released out of Gabbro’s lips, rolling the pebble once more in their hand before sitting up and tossing it into the pond.

”Do you ever wonder if maybe we’re just… different.” Rhyolite spoke, voice low, looking up to towards the sky. The Attlerock passing by once more, shrouding the grove in darkness for a moment before continuing its journey. 

Rhyolite was now shivering, the cold night breeze passing by had finally caught up to them. Not going unnoticed by Gabbro, they take off one of their many layered jackets and hang it over their shoulders. It’s far too big, unsurprisingly, Gabbro is a lot taller, they’ve had their hatchling growth spurt. Though they don’t mind as it acts as a warm blanket for Rhyolite.

”Yeah, I do.” They don’t hesitate with their answer, it’s something they’ve come to terms with quite a while ago. 

“But so what, everyone’s different.”

”I mean like… different different.” Gabbro smiles, “I suppose so, but it’s not like we won’t get there in the end.”

”Get where?”

”Wherever we’re meant to be,” Gabbro said simply. They shrugged, eyes titled back up to the stars. “Maybe not the same place as Feldspar, but somewhere. Somewhere that fits.” 

Rhyolites' brows furrowed. “But what if I don’t fit anywhere?” 

Gabbro glanced over, their smile soft and sweet, kind of like the sun rising over the hills in the cold winter mornings. Welcoming. “Then we make a place that does. Carve it out ourselves if we have to.” 

Rhyolite blinked, eyes stinging again, but they nodded, they understood. “You’re weird Gabbro.” They said playfully, their mood completely changed from when they first arrived in the grove. But not just their mood, but their whole sense of understanding. Gabbro did that. They somehow knew Rhyolite needed to hear.

”Yeah, and yet here you are, talking to me.” They flicked their ear which responded in Rhyolite pulling Gabbro’s beanie down their face. 

Gabbro smirked and stood slowly, brushing the grass from their pants. “C’mon, I’ll walk with you back to the village. Never know what creatures could be lurking in the dark out here.”

Rhyolite huffed and stood up as well. “There’s only tall and slightly philosophical creatures out here.” Gabbro gasped, pretending to be offended at the comment. 

Rhyolite let out a weak laugh, following Gabbro out of the grove, they look back once, the trees and stones all having moved completely now. The trees swayed against the wind, and the stars blinked down like they’d been listening the whole time. 

Together they walked through the grass, talking about random things that came up, Gabbro mentioning that Gneiss might make them an instrument soon. Rhyolite didn’t understand why their heart swelled when Gabbro spoke, it didn’t happen before. They suppose it’s because they made a new friend, but from that moment onwards, the feeling never went away.

The glow of the village lights peeked faintly over the hill. And for the first time in days, the heaviness pressing against their chest loosened— just a little. They head towards their shared cabin with Hal and Gabbro headed the opposite direction, waving them off and grinning widely. Before heading in they looked back once, then down at the jacket still around their shoulders, they’ll have to return it tomorrow. Though it is quite comfy, they wonder if Gabbro would even notice it missing, probably not. 

They quietly enter the cabin, careful as to not wake Hal passed out on the couch, they never understood why they did that when they had a perfectly good bed seven feet away. With the jacket still surrounding them they slip into bed and Gabbro’s scent still lingers on it. It clings to the fabric, the smell grounds them and their thoughts, silencing anything racing around in their mind. They curl tighter into the blanket, jacket sleeves bunched around their chin. The doubts haven’t fully vanished, but right now they feel smaller, manageable.

A soft exhale escapes them as they shut their eyes. The stars and planets continue their journey overhead, forever to be unbothered, undisturbed. But here— beneath the weight of the jacket and now distance conversation echoing in their mind, they believe they’ll be okay.

They take one last smell of the jacket before they fall asleep.

Pine and smoke.

Chapter Text

The woods are quiet tonight. Just the low hush of wind through the trees and the soft crunch of their steps on the packed earth. The afternoon sun, now long behind the hills, casts shadows behind the two as they walk back into the village. Feldspar walks half a step ahead, shoulders loose while adjusting to the gravity of the planet. But there’s an underlying tension, barely, but it’s there and unmissable to Gossan. Perhaps there will be a time in the future where Gossan can’t read the microscopic movements their partner makes. Perhaps these trips will become months long, and the touch they used to receive daily becomes foreign. Gossan knows how much the stars mean to Feldspar, but they always wonder when will it be enough. When will their luck run out? When will they fly too close to the sun and become engulfed by it? Lately Feldspar has been distant, both emotionally and physically, Gossan’s sun drifting away, but if they get closer they’ll burn. But they would rather burn with the sun than spend a day in darkness.

Neither wanted to speak first, so the silence stretches comfortably, then uncomfortably, then softly again, like a blanket that’s both too warm and too cold. Gossan’s eyes flick to Feldspar’s silhouette against the trees, watching their movement, how their posture shifts from one foot to the other, trying to hide the light limp they’ve now gained. One could only wonder what caused it this time. Brittle Hollow perhaps, maybe somewhere on Ash Twin, not like Gossan will find out. Feldspar doesn’t tend to talk about where they get their injuries from, and Gossan doesn’t like to hear the answer, but they always wish they could ask. 

Feldspar breaks the silence with a lopsided grin, “you still walk like your knees are fussed, ya know.”

Gossan snorts, “well maybe I just don’t have anywhere to be.”

Feldspar rolls their eyes hard. Gossan never rushed for anything, well on occasion they did, but they prefer a slow lifestyle, it’s a miracle they ended up together. But as the saying goes, opposites attract, and they are opposite in almost every way possible. Gossan is methodical and particular, Feldspar is decidedly not. Gossan prefers their marshmallows only slightly toasted and Feldspar likes them burnt to a crisp. Feldspar needs to strive for more, and Gossan likes how things are now. But despite the differences they gravitated to one another, they grounded each other, for better or for worse. 

The tension doesn’t leave by the time they crest the low hill and the roof of their cabin peeks through the trees. The boards are weathered and sun-bleached, but the shape is unchanged. Feldspar slows before reaching the door, their breath hitching in their throat when looking over all the cracks and holes they once memorised. Gossan doesn’t rush to open it, they just wait, asking for permission for something unspoken. Feldspar returns a small nod, and together they head inside.

It’s the same, but different. All of Feldspars' clutter is exactly where they left it. Their old gear still hanging by the door, tools half-repaired sitting on the workbench, and a crumpled diagram rests on the windowsill, the ink slightly faded but still legible— a thruster redesign, half-finished, likely something Slate asked them to work on. 

Feldspar stands frozen in the doorway, “you… didn’t touch any of it?” 

Gossan shrugs, “figured you wouldn’t have wanted me to move it, besides the clutter isn’t so bad, it makes me think you’re still here even when you’re not y’know.” 

“I thought maybe at most I’d be gone a week,” Feldspar says quietly.

”You were gone twenty-five days,” Gossan replies, not looking at them.

They exhale, something between a cringed laugh and a sigh, “didn’t think you were counting.” They both stand there for another moment, taking in the shared space together, until Feldspar drops their pack somewhere. They crouch by the fire to feed the dwindling flame, the old motion easing some of the tightness in their shoulders.

”You even left that dent in the floorboards that I made right before I left.” Feldspar murmurs, fingers moving over the warped wood where they dropped their jet pack. They chuckle at the thought, the fizzles of fond memories were always entertaining. Feldspar had joked about Gossan taking care of hatchlings so well that maybe, they should raise one themself. It was delightful to see Gossan so flustered by the remark. ”You’re a sentimental bastard Gos.”

Gossan busies themself with rummaging through the spare medkit they kept in the kitchen drawer, “don’t flatter yourself too hard there. I just figured it was easier than fixing it.”

Feldspar sits on the edge of the cot they never made, still slouched like they’d only left yesterday. They turn their gaze on Gossan’s back, eyes lingering on their hips and shoulders before Gossan turns and pulling them from their trance, catching them in the act. They smirk, giving Feldspar a long gaze, until their expression softens as the flicker of the fire catches in the edge of their grin. Feldspar’s eyes fall to the floor, trying to hide the slight blush that had crawled to their cheeks, but how are they to keep a straight face when Gossan looks at them like that. 

“Ya know, you could’ve at least moved the wrench I left on the floor, what if I was to trip over it again?”

”Oh poor you, the great Feldspar undone by a wrench, oh dear, how tragic.” Gossan fakes a tear wipe, “it’s ya own fault, you’re the one who leaves it there every time. If anything you created the trap for me.”

That gets a real laugh from Feldspar, bright and youthful, reminding Gossan of the days long gone, baking by the geyser pools and testing new rocket engines. Back when things were more simple, when all they had to do was take each day as it came. 

Feldspar, now feeling the weight fall from their shoulders, slumps further into the bed, drooping into it with a groan escaping their lips. All the bruises seem to come back to haunt them once they’ve finally gotten comfortable. Gossan stays fussing with the kettle like they aren’t watching Feldspar's every movement out of the corner of their eyes, scared as if they’ll be gone the next time they look back. Feldspar catches them anyway. 

“You gonna sit or just orbit like an anxious satellite?”

Gossan grunts, fishing out a thread and needle. Outside, the wind picks up through the trees, branches scraping against the glass like a muffled cry. They move towards Feldspar, finally finding what they were after and kneel in front of their partner, tilting their chin gently towards the firelight. The gash across Feldspars' cheekbone looks worse up close. Dried blood and soot has settled in the edges, too close for comfort. 

“Geez Felds, why didn’t you clean this up sooner? It’s too close to your eye, it could’ve got infected, or worse.” 

“I dunno, just forgot I guess.” They mumble, leaning into the touch.

Gossan sighs, cleaning up the wound, “alright, hold still now”

Feldspar makes a dramatic show of rolling their eyes, but stills immediately. Gossan’s hands are warm and steady, homely. And for a moment, the only sound that can be heard is of their synchronised breaths.

”You always do this,” Feldspar murmurs, eyes half-closed.

“What?”

“Patch me up. Like it’s your job.”

“It is,” Gossan replies.

“Since when?”

“Since always.”

There’s nothing playful in their tone now. It’s only rooted in the deep care they have for Feldspar. They would patch up every cut and scrape without being asked to. Same with any request, whatever Feldspar needed, they got. It was their weakness.

The fire cracks. Gossan finishes cleaning the cut, slow and careful, like if they go too fast, something will tear that won’t heal again.

They sit back on their heels when it’s done. “There. You’ll live.”

“I always do,” Feldspar mutters.

Their eyes remain locked. Gossan’s hand still cradles their cheek, steadying them like their neck might give out at any second. Feldspar’s eyes linger on Gossan’s, flicking down to their lips every few seconds, as if waiting for a sign. The fire dances in Gossan’s pupils. Neither move, not yet. They’re suspended in a hush between heartbeats, both of them hoping the other will move first. Their hands find each other. Feldspar running cold, Gossan hot, together they form a comforting warmth. Like the cool breeze on a summer afternoon, or stepping out of the shade in the winter mornings. 

The kiss is gentle and familiar. It’s not a question, or an apology, or a promise— it’s the space between all of those. A reminder. A recognition, a wordless understanding that no matter how long a distance, they will always find their way back to one another. Feldspar’s hand comes up to Gossan’s cheek, a thumb brushing across a faded scar only they notice. When they part it’s only by a few inches, eyes still half-closed, like they haven’t quite returned from wherever they went. Not that they don’t want to just yet. The moment doesn’t pass if anything it sharpens.

Feldspar’s breath hitches in their throat. Their eyes search Gossan’s face for something, anything, anything that tells them to stop, but they don’t find it. Then, without warning, they push forward and crash their mouth against Gossan’s.

Gossan meets them without hesitation, arms wrapping around Feldspar like they’re trying to hold everything together. Their back presses against further into the bed, Gossan now cradling their frame between their legs. The room feels too small to contain it all— the ache, the relief, the heat that is bubbling up surrounding them, like a breached reactor core on one of Slate's failed prototypes.

Feldspar’s hands fly around Gossan’s neck, holding it like it's the only thing able to stabilise them. Gossan’s hand finds their jaw again, fingers brushing slowly along the edges of their face like they’re memorising it— like they don’t quite trust time not to steal it away again. The kisses become messier and heavier by the second, rushed and urgent, seeming like time is working against them. Gossan leaves a trail down from the corner of their mouth to the crevices in the neck, finding one particular spot they know will get a reaction.

”Gos-” A soft broken sound escapes their lips, pulling Gossan’s waist closer by the belt around their hips. “I- I missed you,” they murmur, voice hoarse like it hasn’t been used in days.

“I know,” Gossan whispers back. 

For the moment, that’s all they need, sweet nothings between stolen kisses and long breaths. It’s a closeness you don’t get without years of time. Time spent together, and time spent apart. 

“I, fuck Gos-” A hushed moan falls from their lips.

Knock knock

They both freeze.

A beat passes, then a familiar voice calls, slightly muffled by the door.

“Feldspar? Ya in there?”

Slate.

Their voice is light, teasing—but kind. “When you’re ready, we’ve got a fire going at the old camp. Everyone’s there. I think the hatchlings have been preparing questions all week.”

Another pause.

“No rush. Just… welcome back.”

Feldspar lets their forehead fall against Gossan’s shoulder, groaning softly. Gossan chuckles into the air and holds them tighter.

By the time the two reach the old campfire, the sun has fully dipped behind the horizon, casting the clearing in a soft hue. The fire’s already burning tall and bright, fed with fresh kindling and half a log, its glow paints the faces gathered around in its familiar shade.

Slate is the first to look up at the arrivals, grinning widely, “hey buddy!” They scoot over dramatically on the log to make space. 

“Took you two long enough. We were about to start placing bets on what happened.” Gossan snorts quietly and Feldspar rolls their eyes, but there is of course, a small smile tugging at the corners of their mouth.

Hornfels made their appearance too, tucked in with a mug of something steaming in their lap, filling in air with a herbal scent. “Welcome back Felds. Good to see you in one piece.” Their smile is indeed the same infectious smile they had grown up with as a hatchling. 

“Ah, you underestimate me my friend,” Feldspar replies. The fire pops and crackles, and a burst of sparks dances skyward.

Slate gestures dramatically with a stick, “we figured the moment you’d show your face again, the hatchlings would swarm, so you’ve got about five minutes before the questions start.” A few chuckles follow that.

Feldspar leans down slightly toward Gossan, muttering with a grin. “Good to know some things will never change.”

A tiny Hearthian seated near the fire perks up and scrambles over. “Is it true that you flew over to the comet?” 

Well that didn’t take long.

”Twice actually,” Feldspar correct, deadpan. “But who’s counting?”

The hatchling gasps as if they’ve just heard a campfire ghost story. Feldspar’s expression softens, it’s hard not to love them for it, for the curiosity and wonder they keep alive.

Slate passes Feldspar a roasted marshmallow, skewered on a stick. “You’ve got stories right? Might as well start earning some keep around here.”

Feldspar accepts it with a theatrical bow, then looks sideways at Gossan. Their shoulders bump into one another, an unspoken signal passes between them. Gossan looks, sad? Then it’s gone, replaced by a captivating smile, if they don’t look away now they won’t be able to for the rest of the night.

Feldspar has to rip their eyes away to turn to the hatchlings, raising the stick like it’s a signal flare. “All right, who wants to hear about the time I almost lost my ship fighting back a cyclone!”

A chorus of eager “Me!”’s erupt from the once timid group of hatchlings. And just like that, the campfire becomes a stage. The surrounding woods fall away and the moon shines a spotlight on Feldspar. For a while, all that matters is the crackling flames, the laughter, and the sound of a familiar voice telling impossible stories from the stars.

The stories flow like the fire, bright and often erratic. Feldspar holds the attention of the audience with practiced ease, the hatchlings, and some elder folk, hanging on every word. Even Hornfels chuckles now and then, correcting the exaggerated distances or physics with weary fondness of someone who’s long since stopped trying to win any arguments.

Gossan sits back a touch from the crowd, but close enough to feel the heat of the fire across their chilled head. Every so often their gaze drifts, there’s a log off to the side. Not entirely unusual as someone tends to show up late. But that specific seat is always held by a certain hatchling who has yet to show. One that would never miss any of the stories that Feldspar tells. Gossan keeps glancing at it, between Feldspar’s dramatic retelling and Slate’s snarky interjections. Most wouldn’t think twice about it. After all, the camp’s nearly full. But they know better, they know every rhythm of this place. And the absence feels like a missing note in a familiar song.

They shift slightly, arms folded, gaze distant.

Why would they not be here?

After some time passes, the hatchlings head back to their cabins, bundled in their coats and half-asleep with dreams already forming behind their eyes. Porphy volunteers in escorting them back to the village, slinging one particularly drowsy hatchling over their shoulder with a grunt and a soft laugh. Feldspar has wrapped up their last escapade— carefully edited for the age-appropriate ears, and leans back with a satisfied sigh. Slate, grinning like they’ve pulled off a perfect landing, produces a bottle of sap wine from their pack with a triumphant “aha!”

“Oh no,” Hornfels mutters, although they don’t actually object when the bottle is handed their way. Taking quite a generous chug, they all laugh at the gesture, Hornfels in return mumbling something about having to test the fermentation level.

One by one it makes the rounds. Gossan takes a small sip, out of politeness more than anything, and passes it on without a word. Feldspar, of course, drinks deep and winces with a grin. “That stuff’s worse than I remember”

”That’s the charm of it,” Slate states, already reaching for another swig.

After some more time passes, the last embers of the fire flickering slightly just too stubborn to die out, most have now retired to their homes, pulled by yawns and quiet good nights. What’s left behind is the soft hush of the embers and the lingering scent of toasted marshmallows and sap wine.

Only four remain.

Hornfels sit with their hands folded neatly over their knees, back straight despite the late hour, every so often readjusting their glasses even though they haven’t had to read something in hours, it's a force of habit. Slate, meanwhile, is half-sprawled besides the fire, too close for comfort, legs kicked out, boots off, bottle of sap wine in hand. They pass it back to Feldspar with a crooked grin, the same one they gave when they were a hatchling, when they had thought of a new experiment for them to test out. 

Feldspar takes a swig without looking, elbow knocking into Gossan’s side as they settle back beside them. “You lot are lucky I came back,” they mutter, licking sap from the corners of their mouth. “You must be so bored without me around.”

Slate snorts, “Oh please, I shot a new prototype last week. You just weren’t here to witness my genius.”

”Which I didn’t approve of,” Hornfels mumbles, not bothering to look over. “Or forgive you for.”

”Oh c’mon,” Slate whines, making grabby motions to the bottle. “I only cracked one window”

”Two,” Gossan corrects. “And a solar panel.”

”I hate all of you. It was in the name of science y’know.” Taking another drink, “someone’s gotta do it, while Feld’s isn’t around, who else is gonna test my stuff.”

Feldspar chuckles, shoulder bumping into Gossan again, less accidental this time. “They’re never gonna change, are they.”

”Yeah and neither will you,” Hornfels adds. “Where have you really been?”

The grin on their face falters for just a second. “Here and there, y’know the usual.”

”Always ‘here and there’ with you,” Gossan says softly, “but never here for long.”

Feldspar’s eyes watch Gossan, the embers reflecting in their gaze, they don’t answer.

There’s an awkward silence that has now filled the air. Gossan shouldn’t have said anything, they know that. But maybe with others around, they’ll hopefully open up. It would be remiss to say that Feldspar doesn’t have a sort of addiction. Addiction to the lifestyle they’ve built around the stars and space. Whenever they touch back down to reality, they get their dose of sobriety from Gossan, the medication is slow acting, and never has time to take full effect before they’ve already flown off out the atmosphere again. Addictions aren’t inherently dangerous, most just create a buzz, a bit of fun too. But this one is, because once the buzz is gone, they chase it more before they realise they’ll soon be drowning. Gossan knows this, they know how it could end. But how can they stop it when it’s what Feldspar loves the most in the world, maybe more than Gossan. Maybe that’s what scares them the most, that soon enough out there will take priority to what’s here. 

The tension can be felt like a blanket of ghost matter has just covered them all. Slate, somehow sensing the shift even after all the wine has taken control of their bodily functions, sits back up and wiggles the bottle toward Hornfels. “Hey, ya ever drink on the job?”

Hornfels blinks, “huh? What no, what kind of a question is that?” 

“You want to?”

”No.”

Slate shrugs. “Your loss, I do it all the time.”

Hornfels replies, “huh I guess that’s why almost everything you build blows up in your face.”

”HEY, that’s not accurate!” Now everyone is laughing, half at Slate, and half from the wine that has increased its influence in the brain.

They all sit in silence for a while after that. The kind of silence that only old friends can share. There’s smoke in the air and heat still curling up from the pit. Someone’s playing with a stick. Sap crackles.

”Missed this,” Feldspar says suddenly. Quiet. Almost too quiet to really hear.

Gossan doesn’t answer, just places their hand gently across Feldspar’s lower back, making circular movements. Hornfels watches them for a moment longer, then stands, brushing ash from their pants. “Don’t stay out too long. Campfire’s no replacement for sleep.”

”Speak for ya self,” Slate mumbles, already curling up besides a log like their planning on falling asleep right there. Hornfels rolls their eyes and, forcefully, helps Slate to their feet. Slate mutters something about needing to find their left boot and they both leave together.

That leaves two.

They both watch the smoke idly float up into the trees, Feldspar’s thumb unconsciously traces the rim of the bottle they’ve been nursing.

“Do you ever think about what it’d be like to just… stop?” They don’t look at Feldspar. “To stay put for good?”

Feldspar’s response takes a few beats longer than usual. “All the time.”

Gossan lets out a half-laugh, but it sounds more like an exhale. “Yeah. I don’t believe you.”

That earns them a sideways look. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. Gossan sighs in response, and takes the bottle and drinks what’s left of it. They won’t win this argument, no matter how hard they try.

”Wanna head back?” Gossan asks gently.

”Yeah.”

The path back to the cabin is lit only by the stars and the lingering warmth of sap wine in their veins. Feldspar stumbles on a root, muttering incoherently, and Gossan catches them by the elbow, steadying the, with a half-laugh

”This is on you y’know, you’re the one who kept drinking.” Gossan’s voice is thick with sleep and amusement, “you should know your limit by now.” 

“Yeah, yea, I know, juss got carried away,” they slurred back. Swaying a little too far to one side, almost toppling over.

By the time they reach the cabin, the fireflies are out in full force. They blink and hover around the porch, casting the doorway in a soft light. Gossan fumbles briefly with the door, before it swings open welcoming the two inside.

Feldspar struggles to kick off their boots, tripping on the table leg and falling to the floor. “Ouch, that didn’t feel good,” they groan, rubbing their knee.

”I’m sure,” Gossan hums in response, grabbing their sleeve and gently drags them to the bed with little resistance. They collapse on the bed together in a heap of tangled limbs. Feldspar groans dramatically and throws an arm across Gossan’s chest.

”Stars, we’re too old for this,” Gossan murmurs into Feldspar’s neck.

”Speak for ya self,” Feldspar mumbles into the pillow, voice half-lost in the fabric.

Their hands find each other, barely conscious, seeking the warmth they each provide. Their breaths synchronise. Minds barely hanging on the bit of consciousness they both have. 

“Welcome home,” Gossan says quietly. Squeezing Feldspar just a bit tighter.

But Feldspar doesn’t answer. They’ve already passed out.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely crested the hills when Rhyolite had arrived at the zero-g cave, boots kicking up soft trails of dew from the grass. Their flight suit was half-zipped, collar lopsided, ears still a little flattened from sleep. Gossan was already there, as expected, crouched over a crate of gear, methodically checking each latch and strap like it was second nature. The cave hums low with ambient life, save for the rhythmic creak of the old suspension rig that leads into the lower half of the cave. 

“Morning,” Gossan says without looking up, still fiddling with gear.

“Hey,” Rhyolite replies, trying a bit too hard to sound casual. They drop their bag with a thud beside the bench and busied themself adjusting the flight harness that didn’t need adjusting. The silence stretched for a while, filled only by the chirps coming from nearby trees and the faint hum of a nearby generator. Gossan finally glanced over, subtle, like they were checking the wind direction. “So uh, I didn’t catch you at the campfire last night.”

Rhyolite didn’t look up, “yea nah, I wasn’t feeling it, so I, uh- skipped it.”

That answer came a little too fast.

Gossan nodded once, slow. They didn’t push, not yet. But they filed it away for later.

Another pause. Gossan adjusted the straps on a training pack, more forcefully than needed. “Well, don’t worry. You’ll get plenty of chances to hear the same stories again, they’ve only got about six that they rotate through anyways.”

That pulled a smile from Rhyolite, just a flicker of one, before it vanished again. Their shoulders were a bit too tight. “Alright, suit up,” they said, voice shifting back into instructor mode. 

“We’ll run through the zero-G drills first. Let’s see if you still remember which way’s up.” They grab their helmet and prop it under their arms.

“You still remember the basics?” They ask, not looking directly at them as they tighten the last strap. Rhyolite gives a stiff nod. 

“Yeah. Feet first, head up. Don’t flail.”

“Good. I’d hate for Slate to find you orbiting one of the stalactites again.”

Rhyolite scoffs at the remark as they make their way into the lift and descend into the cave.

Heat is instantly felt on every part of the body as they descend further into the depths— being this close to a planet’s core will do that, and having skin-tight suits doesn’t help either. The claustrophobic-ness of the cave used to bother Rhyolite, but soon enough every Ventures cadet gets used to it. They have to. The twinkling speckled rocks appear like stars, and to some it’ll be the closest they ever get to being surrounded by them. Although a beautiful sight, Rhyolite was fixated on the real thing, and planned to do whatever it takes to be among them. 

Firstly though, they need to get used to this whole ‘no gravity’ situation. They’ve been training in the cave for close to a year now, but it doesn’t get easier, or so it seems. ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Gossan always says, but it’s easy for them to say, as it seems that they were practically born in this very cave. Even Chert, one of the more-newer members of the Ventures has it down-pat. Gabbro too, on the rare occasion they would show up to training that is, but sure they had a few years on Rhyolite. But in all honesty their head wasn’t with it today, after the whole ‘revelations with Gabbro’ last night, they can’t get this strange itch out of their head, and heart. 

After the seemingly never-ending lift ride down, the air thins out and sweat sticks to their forehead. Who knows if it’s from the tension or the cave its self, both probably , Rhyolite thinks. They look towards Gossan and get a nod in return, and like clockwork they activate their thrusters and float over the edge.

Rhyolite is quick to slip into the routine, but the way they moved was more tense than usual, as if trying to prove something without knowing what. And Gossan, for all their calm, watched closely. They always had. Rhyolite drifts into the space like a ghost. Weightless, effortless. A small twist of the wrist, a breath, and they rotate gently upright.

Gossan folds their arms, observing from the edge.

“Better than last week,” they state. “You’re not trying to swim through the air anymore.”

Rhyolite makes a slow lap along the perimeter. “I was never trying to swim.”

“You sure looked like it.”

“I was improvising.”

“You were flailing.”

That earns a half-hearted scoff. They drift back toward the center, momentum gentle and precise, then stop themselves with a palm against the rock. 

“Are we doing this just for practice?” Rhyolite asks, voice almost too casual.

“Well yea,” Gossan tilts their head, “thought you liked zero-g.”

“I do. Just… wondering.”

“Mm.”

Gossan watches as they curl into a slow backflip, eyes focused, movement controlled, but distracted. There’s hesitation where there shouldn’t be. Not the best thing for a pilot to have when travelling at 400km per hour. 

They click their tongue, “let’s try something different.”

Rhyolite straightens. “Like what?”

“Flight training.”

“…Right now?”

“Why not? You’re good enough to handle it, and I’ve got time, aaand I think you need a change of pace.”

Rhyolite’s brows furrows, the slightest flicker of unease breaking through their practised calm. “Okay. Sure.”

Rhyolite floats back to the ledge, only just sticking the landing.

They slap a hand to their shoulder, “c’mon, let’s go find Slate.”

Timber Hearth stretches soft and green around them, the forest thick with the smell of damp moss and warm dust. Birds chatter overhead. A breeze flutters between the two as they walk, keeping them separate.

Gossan doesn’t press the silence. Not yet.

The launch pad comes into view over the ridge, rusted scaffolding and scattered toolboxes, and the old ship perched at a slight tilt like it never quite got the hang of standing still. Slate is halfway under the cockpit, legs kicking faintly as they mutter to themselves.

“Slate!” Gossan calls out, “still trying to fix that vent seal?”

“Still trying to figure out who broke it,” they mutter, voice muffled. They slide out from under the panel, smudged head to foot in grease. “Wasn’t me, which uhh kinda probably narrows it down to… you.”

Gossan raises their hands in mock offence, “that’s slander. I was asleep.”

“Exactly.” Slate tosses a spanner into a nearby crate, wiping excess grease on their arm, “you snore loud enough to shake the observatory. Ship probably picked it up as a tectonic event.”

“Ha Ha, very funny, but with the way you were acting last night, I’d be surprised if Esker didn’t pick up a disturbance from up on the Attlerock.”

Slate rolls their eyes. The two had always had this bickering-type relationship, they never fought with any malice, but in all honesty, it would only take one disagreement over ship safety to be at each other's throats. Sure, Gossan was a bit more lenient in the beginning of the Ventures program, but as Gossan became the flight coach to the newer hatchlings, they developed a responsibility for them. They felt responsible if anything were to go wrong. And sure, nothing extreme had happened yet, not including Feldspar’s emergency landings, of course. But it only takes one. Thankfully, the two newest pilots, Chert and Riebeck, are as safe as one can be with a ship, maybe even too much at times. Riebeck being very anxious, to a fault at times. A strange combination, Gossan always thought, to be almost terrified of space but still enrol in the Ventures. And then the two cadets, Rhyolite and Gabbro, it’s still up in the air for Gabbro. They are very capable. Correction, very capable in what they actually apply themself to. Gabbro tends to meander quite a bit, but is a welcomed member nonetheless. But Rhyolite? Well, they’re just like Feldspar in every way possible. Curious? Yep. Unpredictable? At times. Has the best potential? Definitely

Rhyolite lingers a few steps behind, watching the exchange but saying nothing. Their hands are in their pockets. Not nervous exactly, just withdrawn. Although admiring the two Heartians in front of them, they can’t help but …

Slate and Gossan laugh easily together, falling into rhythms that Rhyolite doesn’t quite know how to join. Slate has that spark in their eye again, the one that means they’re about to say something dumb just to get a rise out of Gossan, and Gossan’s already rolling their eyes in anticipation.

Gossan turns, calling back to them, “you doing alright?”

They nod, quick and small, “yeah, just thinking.”

Slate eyes them with a little squint, then looks at Gossan. “You dragging them up for more drills, or are we going on another ‘test flight’ that mysteriously ends at the geyser fields?”

“Hey, those geysers are a great place to test roll corrections.”

“Sure, and the marshmallow stash under the seat is for emergencies. ” The emergencies is heavy with air quotes.

Gossan shrugs with a grin, “ya never know when hunger might strike.”

They move to the ship’s ladder, giving it a shake before climbing up. “Let’s get you set up, hatchling, should be smoother than last time.”

Rhyolite follows slowly.

Slate catches Gossan’s eye just before they disappear into the ship. Dropping their voice, “what’s up with them?”

Gossan hesitates.

“…Dunno yet.”

Then they climb in.

The cockpit hums softly as systems come online, lights blinking in a slow pulse like a heartbeat. Gossan sits in the co-pilot seat, arms crossed, watching as Rhyolite straps in.

They adjust the thrusters, eyes scanning the console with quiet focus. The hesitation from earlier seems to melt away under the routine. Once they’re in motion, they move like someone who’s memorised the steps, not yet confident, but competent. Determined.

“Pre-check complete,” Rhyolite says. “Thrusters warmed. Launch path clear.”

Gossan leans back slightly, “you’re sounding more and more like Hornfels every time you fly.”

Rhyolite snorts. “Don’t curse me like that.”

“Not a curse, just an observation,” they grin, 

Rhyolite looks over to Gossan, and they reply with a short nod. With a low rumble, the ship lifts from the pad, slow and steady. Slate waves from below, shielding their eyes against the glare as the craft tilts skyward and climbs above the treetops.

Once they’re cruising above the atmosphere, Rhyolite angles the ship into a slow orbit. The blue curve of Timber Hearth rolls beneath them, clouds casting lazy shadows across the forest.

“Let’s run some basic maneuvering,” Gossan says. “Pitch, yaw, roll. Then level off and hover.”

Rhyolite obeys without question. The ship arcs into a smooth rotation, each movement cleaner than the last. The tension in their shoulders loosens with each adjustment, the rhythm of flight settling into their bones.

“You’re doing well,” Gossan says, pure admiration in their eyes.

“Thanks.” They don’t look over, but there’s a faint upward twitch at the corner of their mouth.

A moment of quiet follows, nothing but the ship’s systems murmuring around them.

Gossan watches the stars, arms still crossed. They don’t want to ruin the mood. But the question’s still sitting on their chest, too heavy to ignore.

They exhale through their nose. It’s for the best. Hopefully.

“So,” they say, almost too casual. “Where exactly were you last night?”

The controls stutter, barely. A hitch in an otherwise smooth drift.

“I dunno,” Rhyolite says after a beat. “I was tired. Turned in early.”

Gossan raises an eyebrow, even though they’re not looking at them. “Yeah? Pretty tired from doing nothing all day, huh?”

They bristle, hands tightening slightly on the yoke.

“I think Gabbro’s rubbing off on you.”

“I’m fine, Gossan,” Rhyolite snaps, sharper than intended. “I just didn’t want to be there, okay?”

“But why?” Their voice is calm, but there’s a line of tension threading through it now. “You love being front-row when Felds’ is back. You always have.”

The ship drifts slightly off its intended heading, and Rhyolite quickly adjusts.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Silence.

Gossan watches them carefully, frowning.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.”

”Nothing’s wrong okay?” The anger in their voice had risen slightly now.

Gossan still pushes– probably not the best course of action with a fourteen-year-old at the helm. 

The ship tilts a little more this time and Rhyolite corrects it with a jerky nudge of the thruster.

”Not the best time to get upset,” they say. “It’s your third flight, not thirtieth.”

Rhyolite’s knuckles whiten on the handles, ”just drop it Gossan, I don’t need you to comfort me anymore, I’m not five.”

That hits somewhere deep, deeper than Gossan would admit out loud. No matter how tall Rhyolite gets, no matter how sharp their flying skills or how quick their comebacks, part of Gossan will always see them as the little hatchling curled up in the warmth of their bassonet, eyes barely open, babbling at every new sound. That fragile beginning never really leaves you when you’ve been there to witness it.

Gossan blinks, “so, there is something wrong?”

“Why do you even care so much, it hardly matters, not even, it’s nothing.” 

“Because it’s my job.” 

The silence follows, the ship is back to cruising stably, until–

”Your job,” they repeat, flat and bitter. “Right, so just because you’re my flight instructor, you care.”

”That’s not what I meant.”

”Yeah, well, sure sounded like it.”

Just as stubborn as Feldspar. 

Their voice is trembling now, only slightly, but with their hatchling voice-cracks peaking through, it’s very noticeable. Noticeable enough that Rhyolite coughs a bit, almost like trying to toughen up their vocal cords.

“Please, Rhy, just… talk to me.”

The nickname slips out before Gossan can stop it. And for Rhyolite, it’s like an old bell ringing in a forgotten tune, familiar, but distant. They freeze for a heartbeat, caught off guard. They hadn’t heard Gossan call them by it in years. Once, Rhy was all they’d ever been to them. Back when the days were filled with stargazing from the observatory roof, before launch pads and drills, and the constant undercurrent of expectation. 

Gossan watches their grip tighten on the controls, the faint furrow between their brows. The cockpit feels smaller somehow, the silence between them thicker.

The ship trembles, not violently, but enough, reflecting Rhyolite’s current mental state. Not crashing, but on the verge. Rhyolite’s focus slips. And for the first time, a flash of uncertainty crosses their face. They wipe their eyes with the sleeve of their suit.

“I just got over this,” they mutter, voice breaking. “I was fine, and then you bring it all up again—”

The ship lurches.

Gossan’s instincts kick in.

“Switch out, now.” Their voice sharpens, already reaching for the override.

“No– I’ve got it–”

“No. Now.”

But it’s too late. The controls destabilise. The craft spins, not a full roll, but enough to trigger every red light on the console.

The altitude drops fast.

There isn’t a moment before Gossan yanks the controls out of Rhyolite’s hands, overriding manually. This will hurt their ego . Their hands are steady. Their voice is calm in a way only years of experience can teach. “Hang on.”

Engines scream as they reroute power and force the ship into a recovery arc. They burst through a low cloud bank, steam licking the hull, and Gossan angles hard toward the North Pole.

They touch down with a rough thud into soft, pillowed snow.

The ship groans under its own weight and then, falls still.

The hatch slams open with a hiss of pressure release.

Rhyolite is out in an instant, boots striking the snow with more force than necessary, shoulders hunched, hands balled into fists at their sides. The cold bites, but they barely feel it. Their breath fogs in the cold air, sharp and fast. They don’t stop walking until they’ve put several paces between themselves and the ship. Steam rises from the ship behind them, it’d be a shock if it’s not coming off Rhy at this point too.

Gossan follows, slower. They don't call after them right away. Just watches. The grass here crunches underfoot in a satisfying way—soft on the surface, hard-packed beneath, seeming like they're the first to make steps on this part of the planet.

“You think I’m just like Feldspar, don’t you?” Rhyolite’s voice cracks across the plains, sharp and sudden. “That you have to pick my brain apart before I turn into them?”

Gossan’s jaw tightens, but they don’t speak yet. They’ve learned it’s better to let them get it out.

“You act like you’re training me, helping me, but really, you’re just trying to prevent something. You don’t trust me. You think I’ll turn into them. And you’re trying to stop it before it happens.”

They wipe their face quickly, angrily.

“You think I don’t see it? The way you watch me every time Felds comes back? Like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.” 

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to!” Rhyolite turns on them now, eyes glassy and fierce. “You don’t trust me. You think I’ll vanish like they do!”

Gossan opens their mouth, then closes it again.

For a moment, all they can see is Feldspar—young and wild and impossible to tether. And then they see Rhyolite, shaking, hurt, standing in their shadow.

“I don’t want you to be them,” Gossan says at last, voice rough. “I can’t have you be them.” 

Rhyolite’s breath catches.

“I love Feldspar. Stars, I do. But it hurts, hatchling. They’re barely here half the time, and when they are…” Their voice falters, “they’re already looking at the stars again. Like they’re halfway gone.”

Gossan takes a step forward.

“And then there’s you. Smart. Brave. Restless.” A small smile. “Curious. You’ve got that same fire in you. And that’s not a bad thing. But it is something I think about. Every day.”

They continue. Fears now fully realised in the Hearthian standing in front of them. 

“You have people who love you here.”

A long silence stretches between them.

“So what? You’re scared I’ll become Feldspar, and then what, leave you behind?”

Gossan doesn’t answer right away. When they do, their voice is rough at the edges.

“I’m scared I’ll lose you. The way I’m already losing them.”

Rhyolite’s breath hitches. They take a stumbling step forward and crash into Gossan’s chest. They catch them instantly—like they were waiting for it—arms strong around their back, 

“I’m sorry.” Is all Gossan says. They should never had pushed their fears and insecurities onto Rhyolite. The young and innocent hatchling that they are.

They stay like that for a while. The wind howls over the hills. The ship looms behind them, waiting.

Gossan stares out at the horizon, eyes misted.

They know, deep down, that someday they might have to let go. Let go of both of them. Let the stars take what they always seem to want.

But for now, they hold on to what little they have.

They stand there, clinging to each other in the cold silence. Wind stirring around their suits. 

“As much as it hurts,” they say quietly, “I’d rather have known Feldspar—and loved them—than never met them at all. Even with the ache that comes with it.”

They swallow hard.

“And the same goes for you.”

Rhyolite holds on tighter.

They don’t need to say anything. The silence is comforting.

The ship hums gently under their hands.

Rhyolite is flying again—hands steady on the yoke, breath even. The green curves of Timber Hearth rise into view like a long-held breath finally exhaled.

Gossan watches from the co-pilot’s seat, silent but present. Not hovering. Not correcting. Just there.

They don't say much on the way back. They don’t need to. Something fragile has been aired out, like cracking open a cabin after a long, silent winter.

When they touch down at the launch pad, the ship settles with a soft thump, this time smoother. More intentional.

Slate’s already waiting, feet propped on a toolbox and a mug of something steaming in their hand. They raise it like a toast when the hatch opens.

“Look who lived,” Slate calls, grinning. “How was flight school, hatchling?

Gossan steps down first, brushing off their coat. “Rhy piloted most of it. Even landed us. North Pole.”

Slate raises their eyebrows. “Oof, brave or stupid.”

“Both,” Rhyolite mutters, descending the ladder behind them.

Slate laughs and turns to Gossan, and the two fall into familiar chatter about reactor stress limits and manual override response times—voices already fading a little behind Rhyolite as they step aside, stretching their arms and squinting into the fading light.

They don’t even notice Gabbro until they speak.

“Heya buddy.”

Rhyolite startles just slightly. Gabbro’s sitting on a nearby bench, mug in hand, legs crossed lazily like they’ve been there the whole time. Hard to tell with them.

“Oh hey,” Rhyolite says, taking their helmet off. “Didn’t see you.”

“Didn’t need to,” Gabbro shrugs, smiling easily. “I was watchin’. Nice flying.”

Rhyolite stiffens a little at that. Gabbro notices—of course they do.

“How was training?”

“…Good, kinda, I dunno, it was weird,” they say eventually.

Gabbro just nods.

As they drop their gear into a box beside them, Gabbro comes up from behind, brushing off their pants and cradling their mug with both hands.

“I’m going for a walk,” they say casually, eyes on the winding path through the trees. “Care to join?”

Rhyolite pauses. Turns just enough to glance back.

A beat.

Then a small nod.

“Yeah,” they say. “Alright.”

Gabbro falls into step beside them, quiet, obviously . The launch pad fades behind them, swallowed by the trees, and the two Hearthians walk together, no destination, no rush.

Just breathing.

Just walking.

Even after making up with Gossan, Rhyolite is incredibly tense, couldn’t exactly blame them, though. But if someone like Marl could tell— and they can be as dumb as a rock at times— then Gabbro can definitely tell. It’s nice, though, the air has comfortably settled between them. Though Rhyolite still isn’t sure what it is about Gabbro that makes them feel like mush, and they’re not exactly sure if it’s a good mush or bad. They think to question it, the mushy feeling, but perhaps things just are , and that they’re better left without a proper answer. 

Occasionally, Gabbro hums something tuneless. Rhyolite finds themself matching pace without thinking.

The forest shifts around them as they move, warm afternoon light filtering through the canopy, the dirt path beneath their feet. A soft breeze lifts Rhyolite’s eyes just enough to make them blink, and when they glance sideways, Gabbro is already looking at them—but not in a heavy way. Just… seeing? Like they always do.

“I ever tell you about the time I fell asleep mid-orbit?” Gabbro says suddenly, hands clasped behind their head.

Rhyolite snorts, “no, but I’ve heard it about five times from Gossan.”

“Yeah, sounds about right, they’ll never let it go,” Gabbro grins. “Serves me right though, wasn’t the best not-decision.”

And just like that, the tension in Rhyolite’s shoulders loosens by a thread.

They keep walking.

The trees grow taller as they walk, older. The path narrows, becoming less defined, marked only by the occasional patch of flattened moss or the curve of a familiar root. It smells like warm dirt and sunlit leaves.

The grove doesn’t have an official name, but everyone knows it.

Rhyolite sinks onto the log, elbows resting on their knees. Gabbro doesn’t sit right away—just stands nearby, sipping the last of whatever’s in their mug.

“You know,” Gabbro says eventually, voice low and thoughtful, “you’re allowed to be a mess sometimes.”

Rhyolite doesn’t look up.

Rhyolite blinks slowly, head tilting. “I’m not… a mess,” they mumble, though the words are tangled with a yawn.

“I didn’t say you were,” Gabbro replies easily. “Just that you could be. If you wanted. Stars know I am.”

Rhyolite watches a small leaf drift down through a beam of light, spinning slowly until it lands near their boot. They nudge it with their toe. They try to think of something clever to say back, but the thought slips away mid-yawn. The warmth of the grove settles over them, the soft light, the quiet rustle of leaves.

Gabbro doesn’t push. Doesn’t talk. Just sits there with them.

Another yawn sneaks up on Rhyolite. Their eyes are heavy now, blurring the lines of the grove. They shift slightly, and before they can second-guess it, their shoulder finds Gabbro’s. The warmth there is steady, solid, like the hum of the Hearth’s core.

Gabbro glances down, smiling faintly, but doesn’t say a word.

The air between them holds—still, comfortable.

And somewhere between one breath and the next, Rhyolite drifts off, the world fading to a soft, distant haze.

Gabbro stays exactly where they are.

Watching the light shift through the trees.

Letting them sleep.

Chapter Text

Slate is crouched near the wing of the ship, tools spread out in the methodical chaos only they can navigate. The trees sway in the same rhythmic humming coming off the ship, even the clouds seem to be following the same pattern. As if the whole planet were running on the same loop. Their sleeves are rolled up, smudges of soot darkening their face as they lean over a cluttered workbench.

Gossan lingers by the railing, watching the distant treeline where Rhyolite disappeared with Gabbro. Their thoughts are elsewhere until Slate’s voice cuts through.

“Hey, by the way, Feldspar’s ship is getting patched up tomorrow.”

The words hit Gossan like a meteorite. They blink, slow. “…What?”

Slate doesn’t even look up, still tightening a bolt. “Yeah. They asked for a few repairs. Cracked one of the landing struts, and the guidance system’s been twitching, so the usual. Figured I’d get it done before it turns into a bigger problem.”

Gossan’s hands curl over the railing. “…Already?”

That gets Slate’s attention. They glance up, brow quirked. “Already what?”

“Are you–” Gossan steps forward, voice lowering. “Are you trying to send them away?”

That earned Gossan a long, slow look. Slate set the wrench down with a deliberate clink. “…What? No? I’m fixing their ship because it’s literally my job, Gossan. You think I’m plotting some kind of Feldspar exile?”

“You didn’t–” Gossan stopped, pressing a hand firmly against their forehead. They paced around the launch pad, the very action seeming to off-put the balance of the entire structure. “Slate, they just got back. Barely. And now you’re—what? Already making it easier for them to leave?” Gossan’s left ear flicks slightly, betraying the tension they’re trying to keep down. 

Slate folded their arms, jaw tightening. “Listen. I don’t tell Feldspar what to do. None of us do. You know that better than anyone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to help them run the second they get restless!” Gossan snapped. Their voice cracked with it, rawer than they wanted. The ship hissed louder in the silence that followed.

Gossan looked away, jaw tight. Their throat now coarse like rotted tree bark, the words tried to escape but tangled before they came out. They knew Slate was right, of course. Feldspar had always gone where their heart had pulled them. But knowing this didn’t make the ache any duller. Slate stood still, arms folded, eyes unreadable in the dim light. Gossan’s breath caught in the waiting, their ear flicking again before they forced it still.

Slate sighs, setting the wrench down with a metallic clink. “Look, I get you’re clearly… angry with them or whatever, but sometimes a repair is just a repair.” Their expression softened, just slightly, though their arms stayed crossed, “if I don’t do it, they’ll probably still take off, only this time with a broken landing strut, and then what? We fish them out of some crater?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

The two lock eyes for a moment. Slate looks away first, muttering something about needing to finish some pre-flight check. Gossan didn’t answer, deciding the conversation was over. Their hands were clenched at their sides, knuckles pale. After a long moment, they turned on their heel and left, the lift creaking as they descended.

The walk through the village consisted of the low murmurs filtering through the air as everyone was finishing their evening chores. Lanterns glowed on the porches, flames trembling against the breeze, shadows stretching long over the packed earth paths. From the direction of the falls came the low, unending roar, so loud that at times it pressed deep into Gossan’s chest, a steady reminder of how alive Timber Hearth always was. The smell of damp moss and cooking fires tangled together in the air.

They passed by Marl and Tektite carrying bundles of wood, exchanging nods but no words. A group of younger hatchlings darted across the path in front of them, their laughter bubbling up before fading again into the air. 

Hornfels was where they often were, tucked into the observatory's second floor, closer to the stars here than anywhere else on the planet. They were fiddling with a small receiver, half-buried in notes and open charts. Beside them sat Hal, hunched over the table, fingers tapping in quick little bursts, with the computer casting a faint glow against their face.

“Evenin’,” Gossan greeted, slowing their steps.

Hornfels glanced up from their notes, “oh Gossan hello, out for an evening stroll?”

“Something like that,” they hummed in response. Their eyes flicked over to Hal, “hey hatchling, whatchu working on?”

“Jus’ some coding,” Hal muttered without looking up. The tapping never slowed, their face scrunched with focus. “Don’t let me get distracted.”

Hornfels gave a short laugh, shaking their head. “Yeah, they’ve been buried in that all afternoon. Not sure if they’ve looked up once in all honesty.”

“Progress waits for no one,” Hal mumbled, half under their breath, as though talking more to the screen than to anyone else. “Can’t… can’t get this sequence right though.” They didn’t sound particularly interested in explaining, their tone lived halfway between frustration and stubborn pride.

Gossan leaned in, squinting at the screen. They weren’t much of a coder, but having helped Hornfels since the start of the ventures program, mainly because Slate and Feldspar had no interest in the subject, they knew a thing or two. The code sprawled across it in uneven clusters, a line left hanging where Hal had clearly hesitated. “You’re looping it back into itself,” they murmured, pointing out a finger. “That’s why it keeps crashing.”

Hal frowned. “No, I—” Then they paused, teeth clicking softly together as the mistake revealed itself. “…Oh. Right.” They adjusted the line quickly, shoulders tightening with embarrassment before forcing themself into a shrug. “Yeah. Guess that’s why.”

Hornfels chuckled low, not looking up from their own task, “told you.”

Hal shot them a look, half pout and half glare, then went back to hammering at the keyboard.

Gossan turns their attention back to Hornfels, “so, how’s Rhyolite’s training with you going?”

Hornfels leaned back from the table, the chair clicking against the floor as they pushed back. “The usual, they’re focused and eager. Picking up the navigational charts fast, but I wouldn’t have expected any less from Feldspar’s shadow.” A small smile crept across their face, “they’ll be ready before you know it, can’t say the same for this translator though.” 

Hal’s eyes roll incredibly hard at the comment, they know it’s in good faith, though, still they lightly kick at their chair. 

Gos managed a small nod, some of the tension easing from their shoulders. “Good. That’s… good. And Feldspar?” Gos asked, trying to sound casual, but the weight behind the question was obvious.

Hornfels tilted their head, brow furrowing. “Haven’t seen them since.. Well, this morning. Might’ve slipped off to the radio tower, but who knows with them, Esker needed me on comms most of the day. Been checking in with them from the Attlerock, making sure the signal lines are holding.” 

Gossan hummed, eyes flicking briefly towards the ceiling, the sun’s rays filtering through the wood panels in a mosaic-like fashion. “Right. Thanks.”

Hornfels had already turned back toward the array of instruments, muttering softly to themself as they tuned a dial, before quickly shouting back, “if you do see Feldspar, tell them I want my charts back before they go running off again.”

Gossan let out a quiet huff that might’ve been a laugh, though it sounded too thin to be perceived as one, “ yeah, I’ll let them know.”

Gossan lingered a moment longer, watching the glow of the monitors flicker across Hornfels’ concentrated expression, then slipped away without another word.

Outside, the evening air pressed cool against their skin, carrying the scent of resin and woodsmoke. The sun was already sinking, staining the treetops gold before retreating into shadow. Feldspar would show up when they did— they always did, eventually. No use waiting around for a ghost to appear.

On the path home, a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“Evening, Gos!”

Porphy was leaning against a stack of crates just off the beaten path with sleeves rolled to their elbows, and their eyes sunken deep into their face. They looked as though they’d been working long past the point of sense, but their grin was sharp and easy nonetheless.

“Evening,” Gossan replied, their tone even.

Porphy tilted their head, eyes flicking over them with a mischievous glint. “Out late. You’re not chasing Feldspar down again, are you?”

Gossan snorted, though the sound lacked any real bite, “not exactly. Just heading back. Thought I might… cook.”

“Oh? And here I thought you only survived on canned marshmallows and stubbornness.” Porphy stepped closer, the grin softening into something else, something that lingered too long, “need anything to go with it?”

There was a pause, the kind where words balanced precariously on the edge of choice. Gossan cleared their throat. “Actually. A bottle of wine, if you’ve got one spare.”

“Got plenty.” Porphy’s reply came quickly, but their voice had lowered playfully, “but don’t drink it all alone, you know where to find me when Feldspar leaves again.”

The look lingered a second too long before Gossan inclined their head, almost curt. “Appreciate it.”

Porphy passed them the bottle, their fingers brushing their hand in a way that felt deliberate. Then they leaned back, casual again. “Take care, Gos. Don’t let the stove burn your cabin down.”

“Goodnight, Porphy.”

The bottle weighed comfortably in Gossan's hand as they made the short walk back. A chorus of insects hummed beneath the crickets, filling the spaces between footsteps. Gossan made their way inside with Porphy’s half-teasing words still lodged in their head, the echo of their laugh bouncing around their mind. But the reminder of “when Feldspar leaves again” wasn’t one they particularly wanted to linger on, but it had anyway. At the cabin, Gossan paused, glancing once more over their shoulder toward the path Feldspar might come down.

Now, with night pressing closer and the lanterns flickering against the cabin walls, Gossan felt the weight of that absence more acutely. Every small creak of the floorboards made their head lift expectantly. Every gust against the shutters set their pulse just a fraction quicker.

But the door remained still.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and sap. The table sat bare, the two mugs from last night untouched. Gossan set the wine down, patting their hands on their pants, and began pulling out ingredients with automatic precision. A few mushrooms, some herbs, and the last of the bread from the morning. The knife thunked rhythmically against the board.

Every slice, every stir, every turn toward the stove came with a glance at the door. It was ridiculous, maybe, but the thought of the handle turning or boots scuffing against the doorstep kept tightening around their chest.

The stew simmered, filling the room with a warm, earthy scent. Gossan ladled a little into a bowl, set it down, and sat. Their eyes flicked to the door again, catching only shadows through the cracks in the frame.

They sighed, leaning forward, elbows on the table. The cabin had never felt too big before.

Finally, the door eased open with the careful hand of someone trying not to wake the whole village. Feldspar slipped inside, a travel bag slung casually over one shoulder. Their eyes carried that same restless spark Gossan knew all too well.

“Smells like you didn’t wait for me.” Feldspar’s voice carried the same easy teasing.

“You’re late,” Gossan said, though their voice betrayed more relief than reproach.

Feldspar grinned faintly, like they’d heard the truth beneath the words. “What, miss me?”

Feldspar shut the door behind them, peeling off their gloves and tossing them on the bench. They spotted the wine on the table and grinned, “ah, bribery. You know me too well.”

Gossan arched a brow but slid the second bowl across anyway, ladling stew into it. “Eat first. Wine later.”

Feldspar dropped into the chair opposite, their grin tilting almost sheepishly, “bossy as ever.”

Silence settled, punctuated by the clink of spoons and the soft crackle of the stove. Gossan sat at the table, half-turned toward Feldspar as though anchoring them there by sight alone. Their arms resting loosely across the chair’s back, body language softened, but alas, it was deceptively casual. The flick of their gaze towards the ship’s tools stacked near the door betrays the unspoken question lingering in their foremind. They want to ask, but they already know. Feldspar arrives late in the afternoon when they know they’re leaving the next day, it’s become more than a habit now. Already ? 

Feldspar stirs their bowl, unhurried, eyes fixed somewhere past the window where dusk deepens into night. The firelight paints the edges of their face in warm tones, but the shadows cling stubbornly beneath their eyes.

“You’re looking at me funny,” Feldspar says at last, half a grin tugging their mouth.

“Am I?” Gossan leans back a fraction, arms folding across the chair in mock ease.

“Mhm,” Feldspar taps their spoon against the bowl. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

The corner of Gossan’s mouth twitches. “You could stop coming home so late the night before you leave again,” Gossan murmurs, a thread of humour woven into the words. “Make it less predictable.”

“Predictability keeps you from worrying.” Feldspar sets the bowl down, fingers drumming the rim, “you’d just pace holes in the cabin floor otherwise.”

“Maybe.” Gossan tilts their head, watching Feldspar’s subtle moments. Though they try to remain somewhat ‘calm’ the words come out slightly hostile, “do you have to leave again?”

Feldspar looks up, caught mid-spoonful, eyes falling on Gossan’s eyes before they quickly turn away. “Gos…”

“Where else do you need to see?” Gossan presses, voice low but edged with quiet frustration. “What more is there that you can’t see here? What’s left that you haven’t already—”

Feldspar sets the spoon down, exhaling slowly, a hand reaching the back of their neck. “it’s… not about what’s left, Gos. You know that. I just… have to.”

Gossan lets out a small, sharp laugh, half in exasperation, half in helplessness. “You always have to, don’t you?”

“I know,” Feldspar murmurs, leaning forward, fingers just brushing the edge of the table near Gossan’s. “I just… can’t not. You know me.”

Gossan shifts in their seat, the anger softening into something else, worry, and the ache of the inevitability. They want to reach across, to hold them, to make them stay, but instead they bite back the words and let the silence fill the space, dense like a sun ready to explode, yet it just simmers down. Feldspar’s hand lingers near the edge of the table, and Gossan shifts slightly, leaning just enough that their elbows brush against one another. The contact is light, maybe accidental, or maybe not, but it sends a small shiver through the air.

“You always make leaving sound like an apology,” Gossan murmurs, voice softer now, teasing under the weight of the worry. “Like I should forgive you for it in advance.”

Feldspar chuckles, low and quiet, the sound threading through the cabin warmth. “And you always make me feel guilty for it, too. Maybe that’s the point.”

Gossan smirks, despite the ache twisting in their chest, “maybe it is. You’d probably like that.”

“Stars, Gos… I don’t think I like what you’re insinuating.” Feldspar leans closer, voice dropping a fraction, the teasing slurring off their tongue.

The words hang there, heavy and gentle all at once. Gossan feels their own heart respond, a quiet pull toward Feldspar they can’t name and can’t resist. Their gaze flicks to the wine bottle on the counter, the leftover warmth of dinner filling the room, and for a moment, the world shrinks down to just this; the firelight, the table, and Feldspar leaning close enough that the scent of the forest clings faintly to them.

Gossan swallows, heat rising to their ears. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Felds,” they whisper, though the tremor in their voice betrays them.

Feldspar grins, mischievous, teasing, but there’s something else in their eyes too, and it’s oh, it’s amorouring. “Harder? I think you like a little difficulty, Gos.”

Feldspar shifts in their chair, just enough to close the space between them. Gossan feels the warmth brush across their forearm as Feldspar reaches for the wine to pour a glass.

“You know,” Feldspar murmurs, leaning slightly closer, voice low and teasing, “we could have a nice night, just you, me, and this bottle of wine I’m sure you picked up for a reason.”

Gossan huffs a soft laugh, though their chest tightens. “That sounds suspiciously like a trap to me.”

“Maybe,” Feldspar says, eyes glinting in the firelight. “But traps aren’t always bad, are they?”

Two can play at this game.

They grab the bottle and drink straight from the lip, excess wine flowing down their chin, dripping onto their shirt below. And all Feldspar can do is watch, gaze lingering on their chest, tracing the curve of their neck as though memorising it. A slow grin spreads across their face, low and amused, and they lean just a fraction closer.

“You’re a show off,” Feldspar murmurs.

“Only when someone’s watching,” Gossan replies, licking the drop off their lips with deliberate motions, eyes daring Feldspar to look away.

Feldspar leans in just slightly, drawn by the heat radiating off Gossan and the daring glint in their eyes. Gossan tilts their head, and in a heartbeat, their lips meet.

The taste of sap wine lingers between them, sharp and sweet, mingling with the warmth of their mouths and the closeness of their bodies. Gossan’s hand rests lightly on the table to stay balanced, while Feldspar’s fingers brush against theirs, hesitant at first, then firmer. The table beneath them rattles slightly as they shift, leaning closer, aching for the touch from one another. 

They pull back for a moment too long before Gossan’s lips smash harder against Feldspar’s, bold and demanding this time. Feldspar, in return, gasps softly, tilting their head to deepen the kiss. 

Feldspar’s hands tighten, brushing along Gossan’s arms, tracing the line of their shoulders, pulling them slightly closer across the table. Gossan responds, gripping the edge of the table and pressing forward with equal force, almost daring Feldspar to back down.

The clatter of the bowls and spoons is lost to the rush of their mouths and the rush of blood in their ears. Lips, teeth, and breath intertwine, and the table beneath them creaks as the kiss intensifies.

Gossan's hand slides down from the table, trailing along Feldspar's arm, their fingers dancing over the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Feldspar's breath hitches, their eyes fluttering shut as they lean into the touch. Gossan's hand moves further, slipping under the fabric of Feldspar's shirt, their fingers brushing against the smooth skin of their stomach.

Feldspar's hands move to Gossan's waist, pulling them closer, their bodies pressing against each other. The heat between them is suffocating, yet it’s not enough, neither can ever get enough of the other. Ever since Feldspar’s absences began to grow longer, the intensity when they had moments like this was practised and passionate. They each knew exactly what to do in order to get the other to reach their peak fast and hard. Although seemingly rushed, it was full of love, giving to the other what no one else could, physically and emotionally.

Gossan's other hand moves to Feldspar's cheek, their thumb brushing against their lip and cupping their cheek, their eyes locked on each other.

"Gos..." Feldspar breathes, their voice barely a whisper, their eyes filled with a desire and need. Gossan's thumb moves back to their lips, tracing the soft skin, their eyes never leaving Feldspar's.

"I know," Gossan murmurs, their voice loathing, their hand moving to the back of Feldspar's neck, pulling them into another kiss. This one is slower, softer, a gentle exploration of each other's mouths. Feldspar's hands move to Gossan's hips, their fingers digging into the soft flesh, their bodies moving together in a slow, sensual rhythm. 

Gossan's hand moves down, their fingers twist the waistband of Feldspar's pants. Their breath catches, their hips bucking slightly into the touch, their eyes wide with anticipation. Their fingers brush along the fabric between Feldspar’s legs, a thumb agonisingly brushing against their slit through the cloth. Feldspar's breath comes in short, sharp gasps, their body trembling with desire. 

Gossan's hand moves up, their hand palming against Feldspar's probe that has now emerged, their touch light and teasing. Feldspar's hips buck again, their body aching for more, their eyes pleading with tears prickled at the corners. 

“P-please Gos, need this.. need ah- you.”

Gossan's hand moves away, much to Feldspar’s pleading cry, their fingers trailing up Feldspar's stomach, their other hand moving to remove the now very constricting clothing. They slip their hand beneath the fabric, finally the contact they were craving, their fingers brushing against their slit, Feldspar’s breath hitching at the sensation. But Gossan’s movements are agonisingly slow. Tracing the outside, gathering the wet slick across their fingers, it’s all too much and not enough.

After what seems like an eternity of teasing, Gossan’s fingers slip inside their folds, their touch sending a flood of pleasure and relief down Feldspar’s spine. They slowly move and explore, finding the sensitive spot within that they know will get a response. A dragged-out moan escapes Feldspar, their breath hot against Gossan’s ear, muffled words spilling out of their mouth. Their body arches into the touch as the pace increases, it’s not too fast yet, but Feldspar can feel their climax approaching quickly. It’s not their fault that Gossan knows them so well. 

Being away for weeks has its downsides, the food for one, nothing comes close to fresh salmon from the river, so far there’s no sign of fish on any of the other planets. The jellyfish on Giant’s Deep don’t seem edible, though, time will tell. And of course, missing Gossan, all aspects of Gossan, especially their probe. It’s a wonder they’ve survived three weeks without the touch of their beloved Hearthian.

“Gos- Ohh, mhHm please… need more”

“You’re the one who insists on going away for so long.” Gossan’s fingers remain at their tame pace while the other hand moves to pull the rest of Feldspar’s clothes off, their fingers working quickly now, desperate to feel more of Feldspar’s skin against theirs. “Gotta prep you properly.”

Finally, Feldspar’s pants are pushed down, revealing their probe, already leaking, no surprise there. Gossan watches in appreciation, their fingers moving to trace the length of Feldspar’s shaft. They gently stroke the sensitive skin, their touch soft and slow.

Feldspar’s hips buck again, their body begging for a release, but Gossan holds back, teasing them mercilessly. With a sudden move, Gossan’s hand wraps around their probe, their fingers sliding over the slick surface. Feldspar makes a sound seemingly foreign to them, their eyes rolling back in their head as they’re brought to the brink of orgasm. But just as they’re about to finish, Gossan’s hand moves away, leaving Feldspar gasping for air.

Their heart racing, Feldspar pleads, “please Gossan, I can’t take much more… please.”

But Gossan remains silent, their eyes dark with desire as they continue to tease and torment Feldspar’s aching body. Fingers tracing over the curves and muscles framing their small body. Their probe throbs in time with their heartbeat, desperate for release. Without any warning, Gossan’s mouth descends onto Feldspar’s neck, their teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Feldspar’s moans turn into whimpers, their body writhing under the touch. The combination of pleasure and pain is too much to bear. 

“Hmm, missed those noises,” Gossan hums biting down on their ear, receiving a small yelp in return.

Gossan’s hand returns to Feldspar, this time slipping a finger inside, stretching further to send them over the edge. Feldspar’s body convulses, their orgasm crashing down over them like a tidal wave. They cry out, their voice muffled into Gossan’s shoulder.

They lean in, pressing a kiss to Feldspar’s sweaty forehead. “That’s it, yeah just like that, let it all out.”

As the wave of pleasure subsides, Feldspar collapses onto the table, panting heavily. Gossan smirks, their eyes not leaving Feldspar’s body. 

Feldspar opened their eyes they hadn’t noticed they had closed, their gaze meeting Gossan’s. They try to speak, but the words catch in their throat, their body still trembling from the aftershocks of their orgasm. Gossan chuckles softly, their fingers tracing the patterns and spots on Feldspar’s stomach. “You’re so beautiful,” they whisper, their voice low and husky. With a tug, they remove the last of their own clothing, revealing their probe fully erect. 

“Now it’s my turn,” they say, their voice barely above a whisper.

They position themselves over Feldspar, their probe at the entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, Gossan pushes their probe into Feldspar. Feldspar’s eyes roll, somehow, further back into their head, their mouth agape in a silent scream of pleasure. The movements are slow, but they quickly grow more frantic, their breaths mingling, and their bodies moving in perfect harmony. 

Their probe glides in and out, hitting that perfect spot inside every time. Gossan grabs the table edge to stay centred as they move faster. Feldspar’s fingers dig into Gossan’s shoulder blades, their body arching off the table in response to all the simulation. 

As the pleasure builds, Gossan picks up the pace, their probe thrusting deeper and harder. Both breathing in ragged gasps as the table squeaks against the wood floor. 

“Fuck Felds, why stay away when you could have this every night.” 

“S-shut up and kiss me.”

Gossan leans down, capturing Feldspar’s lips in a searing kiss, their tongue darting out, tracing the outline of the lips before biting down hard. Feldspar moans into the kiss, their body moving in time with Gossan’s. 

Gossan can feel their peak is close, and judging Feldspar’s now washed-out orange eyes, they are too. 

“Mmh, I’m.. stars, I’m close.”

Feldspar doesn’t respond, or well, can’t, they’re too engrossed with the sensations that the words don’t even register in their mind, just the fact that Gossan is thrusting even harder now.

With one final thrust, Gossan’s probe hits deep, sending them over the edge. Both convulse, their orgasms shaking them from head to toe. Feldspar cries out, their cum hitting Gossan’s stomach as they receive nothing but sweet praises in their ear. As the wave of pleasure slows, Gossan pulls out, their probe wet with their combined fluids. The two collapse onto the table, their chests rising and falling rapidly, their gazes meeting. Feldspar smiles, their cheeks flush, providing a deep purple to their complexion. Gossan smirks with satisfaction.

“Thanks.”

Gossan laughs, “that’s all you have to say?” 

“Oh, sorry, uhh,” they stall for a second to think of something funny to say, but come up empty.

Gossan just smacks their stomach, forgetting what just landed there. 

“Lemmie clean you up,” they say groaning getting up off the table to retrieve a towel.

By the time Gossan comes back with the towel, Feldspar is still slouched against the table, chin tilted back, eyes half-closed like they’re posing for some grand portrait. “Well? Don’t leave me to suffer, Gos.”

Gossan rolls their eyes but steps closer, dabbing carefully at the sticky patch on Feldspar’s stomach. 

“You’re being awfully gentle for someone who just fucked me in the gut.”

“Don’t test me,” Gossan mutters, and their hand lingers a moment.

Feldspar laughs softly, head tipping to one side. “You spoil me, you know that?”

Gossan scoffs and throws the towel, reaching for the pile of clothes on the floor. They find a shirt and pull it over, and hand another over to Feldspar.

“C’mon, I wanna sleep now,” they don’t wait up, just head straight for their shared room and flop onto the bed. 

Feldspar lingers a moment, tugging the shirt over their head with a soft grunt. They scoop up the towel, tossing it back onto the table, then pad after Gossan with slower steps.

When they reach the room, Gossan is already sprawled across the bed, arms draped lazily across the whole bed.

“Didn’t even leave me a spot,” Feldspar mumbles. They push at Gossan’s leg until there’s enough space, then crawl in beside them.

The mattress dips, and Gossan shifts just enough to throw an arm over Feldspar’s chest. “Better?” they say, voice muffled and heavy with sleep.

Feldspar lets out a low chuckle, settling into the warmth. “Yes, better.”

Together they lay for a while, just basking in each other's company, although not said, they each know it’ll be another few weeks before this happens again. Though Gossan has accepted this. They have too. It’s been like this for years, sometimes Feldspar settles for longer. Four months was the longest, and even then, normalcy never had time to take root.

Feldspar shifts closer, fingers brushing against Gossan’s.

Gossan exhales slowly, “can you do one thing for me, say goodbye to me now, and leave before I wake up.”

The words come out steadier than they feel. It isn’t bitterness, it’s acceptance, worn into them after years of this rhythm. Better not to watch the door close. Better not to hope the morning will be different.

Feldspar holds them closer, both on the verge of sleep, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”